


It All Began With an Accident

by BunnyDawn



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boss/Employee Relationship, M/M, Regret, Sexual Harassment, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2018-12-19 16:12:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11901366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunnyDawn/pseuds/BunnyDawn
Summary: Miles runs into Waylon literally, Waylon takes a nasty fall and bumps his head.  There may be a spark between them or it might just be that Waylon works for the same company Miles is planning on exposing for their corruption.Outlast AU Story.  Miles x Waylon, One sided abusive Jeremy x Waylon.Workplace sexual harassment, Perveted Boss Jeremy.  Rude, snarky Miles, aslo he's kind of a dick.  Adorable, Short, kinda gullible Waylon.  Waylon is not married and doesn't have children in this universe.





	1. It All Began With an Accident

**Author's Note:**

> Outlast was created by Red Barrels Inc. I don't own anything related to the video game or it's characters, and I am not making money off this or any other fan fiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Quick note, as of 10/20/2017. I have a family illness that has been delaying my update. I am now working on the next chapter. I apologize for the delay and I hope to have the chapter finished soon.**

It all began with an accident.  Waylon hobbled on his crutches, still unused to the broken ankle.  Even though it throbbed dully he would forget and try to put weight on it.  Perhaps he should cut back on his pain killers a bit.  A stabbing ache shot through his leg and up his spine when he accidently hit the curb with his heel.  He shook his head, no the pain was just managable as it was, and he had a job to get to.  The job was only older than the injury by about two months.

  
The wind blew through his thin Jacket and he shivered, he needed to get his coat out of the storage closet.  It was looking like another early winter in the mountains.  He crossed in front of a coffee shop and contemplated going in for a venti cappuccino.  Someone was arguing with somone else in the store.  Even through the closed door he could hear them.  Then a man, taller than him by at least half a head, burst out.  He had only a second to look.  The guy was handsome in a roguish way with a dark brown mop of hair and a sneer on his face making him look a bit dangerous.  He was darker complected then Waylon with a stronger jaw and greyish hazel eyes.  He had one hand on his phone, the other on his coffee, the phone to his ear, coffee cup to his mouth.  He barelled right into Waylon, before the smaller man could even think to move.  Waylon flew backward, head cracking into the paved walkway, and scalding coffee splashing over his once crisp white shirt.

  
"Shit!  Watch where your're going!  Fucking **idiot**..." The man snarled before he looked down.  Waylon couldn't respond he was dazed by the blow to his head.  His eyes rolled back in his head before he registered a hand on his shoulder starting to lift him, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!  Are you ok?  Shit!"  The voice came in tinny, like an old radio in another room.

"Sir, don't move him!" A female voice called, "I think he has a concussion!  You're not supposed to move a person with a head injury, right?"  She sounded unsure but Waylon wasn't sure either perhaps it would be better if they just left him there.  He could just close his eyes and take a nap...No! He had to get to work!

* * *

"No, no, Fuck No!" Miles growled into his phone.  Uncaring of the dirty looks he was being shot from the other partons or the nervous looks the twenty-something behind the counter was giving him.   He slammed his hand on the counter as he waited for his coffee, "I said I wasn't covering the Clairmont litigation, David!  It's already old news and I have a bigger fish to catch!  No, no I can't tell you about it _right now!_ "  He hissed and cupped his hand over the phone suddenly glancing around suspicously.

"Upshur..." A timid voice called.

"Mr. Upshur?" The voice called again.

"Excuse me...Mr. U-Upshur?" The voice tried again.

Miles put the phone to his chest, "WHAT!"

The boy behind the counter jumped, the nametag read Billy.  Billy grimaced and held Miles' large black coffee.  His last name written in sharpie on the side.  Miles took the cup and paid, walking out.  He resumed his tirade as he pushed the door open and walked right into something...or rather someone, "Shit!  Watch where you're going!  Fucking **idiot**..."  Miles looked down and saw a small man with a cast on his leg a shirt ruined by his coffee and his eyes rolling back.  Miles heart jumped into his throat, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!  Are you ok?" He ovbiously was _not_ ok, "Shit! I need to go Dave," Miles hit the end button, ignoring the other's protests, and pocketed his phone.  He leaned down and touched the small blond's shoulder.  He barely kept himself from shaking the guy.  He wasn't a kid, he had to at least be in his late twenties; but he was so small and that face was almost cherubic.

His hair fanned out (like a halo) to frame his petite features, button nose, pouty lips, high cheek bones, even the little soul patch under his bottom lip didn't diminish his almost innocent countenance.  His eyes were closed, but Miles could tell they were big for an adult.  Arms and legs were splayed the crutches lay on either side of him.  He would have looked like a kid making a snow angel except the sidewalk was dry and snow free and his expression was pinched into one of pain.  He opened his eyes and looked around drunkenly.  They were big, big and brown and expressive.  They showed fear, confusion and pain; then they closed again.

"Sir, don't move him!" A young woman came out and stopped him from moving the man.  She bit her lip and almost reached out to grab his wrist.  She halted and looked at him, "You shouldn't touch him...I think he has a concussion!  You're not supposed to move a person with a head injury, right?"  She was young and wearing a candy striper's uniform.  It made sense since the hospital was just a few blocks down the street and she had one of those drink carriers, probably on a coffee run for some of the nurses.

Miles didn't know but he took his phone back out, and dialed 911.  He waited on hold for a bit when suddenly the young man started to get up.  
"Don't move,"  Miles found himself kneeling next to the guy and gently pushing his shoulder down.

"Can't...gotta get to work," Waylon strained as his eyes watered.

"What's your name?"  Miles asked.

"Waylon," The smaller man hissed.

"I'm really sorry Waylon," Miles slowly carded his fingers through the blond's hair.  He cursed when he found his fingers painted red, "You hit your head hard.  You're bleeding.  I'm sure your employer will understand Waylon."

Waylon moaned discontentedly.  Miles held him down still and heard an operator saying, "Hello!"

"Hi, um...I'm outside Cuppa Joe's. Yeah the one across from the big Murkoff building.  I had a run in with a man on crutches.  He hit his head pretty hard and he's bleeding.  He's trying to get up but I'm afraid to let him." Miles listened to the operater and nodded.  He pressed more firmly on Waylon's shoulder, "Yes, he fell on the sidewalk.  Right in front of the store."  Miles nodded, "Yes.  I'll keep him still.  Thanks."

"Waylon," Miles called gently.

"Yeah?" The responce was strained through clenched teeth.

"You need to lie still just in case you hurt your neck or have a fracture to your skull," Miles explained as he rubbed the smaller man's shoulder, "An ambulance is on its way."

"Kay," Waylon looked at him with big watery doe eyes.  So trusting.  Miles felt his heart skip a beat.  Waylon was really cute.  He felt his belly heat up and blushed.  He shouldn't be getting aroused over some random guy he accidently knocked over.  This wasn't some grade school playground, or something, where you push your crush into the dirt.  Besides as far as Miles knew the guy was probably straight as an arrow.  
Waylon blushed and grabbed his wrist pulling his hand into his own.  He gave a faint squeeze and smiled.  Miles had to retrun the smile with a smirk.  Maybe he wasn't one hundred percent straight?

An ambulance was there quickly.  Lucky they were so close to the hospital.  The EMT's came over with a back brace and Miles reluctantly moved out of the way.  Waylon gripped his hand, "Please!"  His whisper cracked and tears formed in his eyes.

"You'll be ok," Miles reassured him.

"Stay?" Waylon begged.

"...I," Miles felt trapped.  Part of him wanted to leave but, he was responsible...not that he would admit fault in a court or anything...still he felt bad.  The guy looked like he was already having a bad day, week...month?  He sighed and moved to Waylon's other side where he was out of the way of the man and woman who were preping him for movement.

"What's your name,"Waylon slurred.  His eyes were unfocused again.

"Miles," He said.

Waylon smiled, "Nice name, maybe you aren't so bad."  He giggled softly then let out a pained whine.

The female EMT caught Waylon's attention and Miles felt a little put out.  He knew it was silly but he liked having the smaller man's attention on him.

"Can you tell me your name sir?"  She asked as she shined a light in both of his eyes.

He blinked and replied, "Waylon Park."

"Can you tell me your age?" She smiled at him reassuringly.

"Thirty-two,"  He mumbled.  Miles had to smile he was younger than Waylon by three years.

"Do you know where you are?" She asked.

"Yeah.  I work across the street, Murkoff," Waylon mumbled.  
Miles frowned.  Of course he had to work for _them_.  The Murkoff Corporation had to be one of the most corrupt organizations in the country.  Well now he had an excuse to get to know the guy better.  Waylon looked like a little guy on the totempole, but that didn't mean he couldn't be useful.

"Ok, Mr. Park, were going to move you," The male EMT spoke up.  Miles had to move so the man and woman could slide him onto the stretcher.

"Can I come along?"  Miles spoke up, "I kind of feel responsible.  I bumped into him."

"If Mr. Park says it's ok,"  The woman looked to Waylon.

"Ok," Waylon said.

Miles climbed in after the other male was loaded up he took Waylon's hand and squeezed it gently.

"Thanks for coming," Waylon mumbled, "Scared of hospitals."

"It's ok.  Sorry I knocked you down, but I'm glad I bumped into you.  You're pretty cute," Miles threw on a charming smile.  He mentally crossed his fingers that the other wouldn't be scared off by his flirting.

Miles took his blush and bashful smile as a good sign.  If he could hook the little fish then maybe he could lure out the bigger fish.


	2. Time in the ER

Miles followed Waylon and the EMTs inside the emergency room.  He was pulled aside and asked some questions, including his relationship to the blond.  He was tempted to lie and say they were boyfriends, so he could go back with Waylon, but thought better of it.  They'd start asking him for Waylon's information, which he didn't know.  He was forced to stay in the waiting room while they ran tests.  
  
The receptionist smiled at him, "We'll let you go back and see your friend once he's in a bed if you'd like to have a seat and wait."  
  
"Sure, thank you," Miles smiled and took a seat in the corner.  He pulled his phone out and swiped the screen, unlocking it.  He sent a quick text to his boss explaining what happened, and that he would get back with him later. Then he started scanning news feeds.  He found an interesting article, a small company was exposed as a dummy business for the Clairmont Corp.  They had been using a small boating business off the coast of Nova Scotia to dump chemical waste into the atlantic.  Miles rolled his eyes.  David wanted him to cover that story when it was already wide open.  
  
He scanned the article then closed the news app.  He went to Google and started searching Murkoff.  He knew the building there in Denver was just a satelite, but there were some big names in the local office.  Mr. Jeremy Blaire was notroious for shady behavior and a hot temper.  He had a few lawsuits that just disappeared.  Their nature was not on public record, a testiment to Murkoff's efficent clean-up.  
  
Then there was Richard Tragger, allegedly know as 'the hatchet man' of the corporation.  He was a doctor turned lawyer who had lost his medical licenes under questionable circumstnaces.  He's been said to cut off, at the neck, any problems for Murkoff.  Possibly literally, based on the number of people opposing the company to up and vanish since the man joined the orginization.

* * *

  
Some more people came into the waiting room.  A man, woman and a screaming child.  He groaned and closed Google out.  He wasn't going to get much reading done while the kid was scremaning and babbling in toddler speak.  He was tempted to pull out his ear buds and listen to some music but he decided against it.  It had been almost an hour since they took Waylon away.  Surely they would be done soon.  It wasn't as if there had been many people there when they arrived, but maybe they were waiting for his insurance to clear before running tests.  Miles contemplated leaving.  The only thing stopping him was his plan to befriend Waylon and maybe get some leads for his investigation.  So he sat and waited.  The family got checked in finally and left him in peace.  It must have been a slow day for emergencies.  He wasn't complaining, well about that, but those chairs in the waiting room were not made for comfort.  He twisted in his seat and tried to stretch out his legs.  The waiting room television was tuned to the weather channel.  He yawned and his head tilted to the side.

 

* * *

 

Miles bolted up in his chair.  There were more people in the waiting room a few turned to look, but it was the nurse who had woken him, "I'm sorry I startled you, Mr. Park was asking for you."  
  
"Great,"  the man droned and stretched, "I'm coming."  
  
The young woman wore a lopsided smile, "I'll show you to his room."  She gave him a once over as he stretched and got up.  Miles pretended not to notice the nurse ogling him.  He wasn't interested in women.  He wasn't about to tell her though and embarrass her, or worse.  Sometimes when he told women he was gay that made them try harder for god only knows what reason.  
  
The girl turned and led him past the emergency room doors.  There was a decided wiggle in her walk.  She ocassionally tossed a look over her shoulder to make sure he was following her, or to make eyes at him.  She wasn't bad looking either.  Her hair, pulled into a loose bun, was a nice coco brown; and her skin was a light carmel color.  She had nice big brown eyes, but Waylon had her beat in the looks department (at least in Miles opinion).  
  
"He's right through here sir," She smiled and leaned toward him just a bit, "I'm Lisa by the way."  She grinned at him, "If you need anything ask for me."  
  
Miles went into the room and saw Waylon proped up in bed with a paitents gown on, and a bandage wrapped around his head like a sweat band.  Waylon shivered.  Poor guy was probably freezing his cute little butt off.  He had really nice legs, Miles noticed, even with the small cast wrapping around his ankle and foot.  _'Looks like he swims or runs.  Athletic body, adorable face,'_ Miles really hit the jackpot.  If he turned out to be a jerk later at least he was pleasant to look at.  
  
Waylon noticed Miles checking him out and blushed.  Miles cleared his throat and went to his side.  He claimed the only chair in the room, pulling it over, "How they treating you?  I see they took the brace off."  
  
"Yeah," Waylon rasped, "Neck's fine, just a concussion, and they're gonna stitch up my head.  Said the gash was pretty big considering the size of the bump on my head.  Must have hit a rock or something, they figure."  
  
"Well, I'm glad it isn't worse.  I was getting worried," Not totally a lie.  
  
"Surprised you stayed,"  Waylon smiled, "Glad, but surprised."  
  
"Well I feel bad for knocking you down and besides I didn't have anywhere better to be," Also not totally a lie.  
  
"I need to call my supervisor," Waylon suddenly said, "Did they leave my things in the room?"  
  
Miles looked around and didn't see the other man's clothes, "Don't see them I can get the nurse."  
  
Waylon shivered again, "Lisa?  She's a bit...forward.  Tried to give me her number."  
  
"She seems harmless, besides I think you need a blanket," Miles got up and looked down the hall.  
  
Miles spotted her, "Um, Lisa?"  
  
The woman was talking to a man in scrubs holding a clipboard.  She waved at him indicating she would be right there.  Miles ducked  back into the room and took his seat.  He grabbed Waylon's hand without a second thought.  Waylon blushed.  He had been doing a lot of that.  Miles felt his stomach churn.  This guy seemed really nice.  He was having second thoughts on inacting his plan.  He was attracted to the smaller man, that would be a problem.  He had to think of that, but his desire to take on Murkoff was greater than his guilt.  
  
Lisa looked in on them.  She saw them holding hands and blushed.  She spoke up, "Need something.  Are you alright Mr. Park?"  
  
"Waylon wants his things and could you get him a blanket he's shivering a lot," Miles asked before the other could speak.  Waylon had his mouth opened but closed it and cast a glance at Miles.  The other gave him a cocky smile.  OK it was hard not to flirt with the poor little guy.  
  
"Well we're keeping him for ovbersation right now...I'll ask the doctor if he can have a blanket, but if he gets drowsy we need him to be kept awake.  You can keep him entertained, I'm assuming,"  She wagged her eyebrows then she left.  
  
"What was that supposed to mean?" Waylon asked Miles innocently.  
  
Miles snorted, "You're kind of naive, aren't you?"  
  
Waylon pouted.  
  
"I think its really cute," Miles rubbed his thumb over Waylon's knuckles.  Waylon pulled his hand back going beet red.  
  
Miles dialed back his smirk and let his hands fall in his lap.  Maybe he was pushing it, and he didn't want to scare his bait away.  Waylon looked a bit uncomfortable, but it could have been the hospital bed.

* * *

  
Waylon felt butterflies in his belly.  This handsom guy was ovbiously flirting with him.  He was kind of awkward and he didn't really go for the whole social interaction thing.  Well there were the guys from work but that was different they were all computer geeks like him.  They understood what it was like to not really fit in with the normal crowd.

Of course Blake always said there was no such thing as normal.  Blake was pretty cool, he worked in the IT department with Waylon and a few other guys.  He was really nice, invited him over for dinner with he and his wife Lynn.  Lynn was really cool too.  They shared a hobby of photography.  They tried to invite Waylon on a few weekend trips to the woods for some nature photographs but it felt weird, so he had declined.  Maybe if he had someone to bring along he wouldn't feel so much like a third wheel.  
  
He peeked over at Miles and smiled.  Maybe he could make a friend out of this crappy situation.  A very good looking, tall friend.  With a nice body.  Oh there he was blushing again.  
  
"Here are your things Mr. Park,"  Lisa walked in and placed a plastic bag on the counter by the door.  She walked over to him unfolding a thin blanket and covering him, "Hope that's a little better."

"Thanks," Waylon smiled gratefully.  
  
"I'll get your phone," Miles hopped up as soon as the nurse left, and started rifling throught the bag.  Waylon frowned but didn't complain that he was invading his privacy.  Miles chuckled, "Adorable boxers.  I prefer Batman myself."  
  
"Just give me my phone please," Waylon blushed.  He just had to wear Superman Boxers today.  
  
Miles took his phone out.   He swiped the screen, "You don't lock your phone?  Trusting soul," Miles started typing something.  Waylon heard a phone alert go off.  Miles smirked, "I sent myself a text.  I have your number now."  
  
"Give me my god damned phone!"  Waylon held out his hand and barked at Miles.  
  
"Ohh the puppy has fangs,"  Miles wiped a tear from his eye and finally handed the phone over.  
  
Waylon snatched the phone and grumbled as he called his department.  It rang a few times, "Hey, Blake, Hey man. I'm sorry I didn't call sooner.  Is Michelle there?  ...Can you give her a message?   I...I had an accident.   No I'm...well I'm not OK.  Stop it! ...No, not you, this guy, Ug real mature Miles..."  Miles was making faces at him. Waylon stuck his tongue out at Miles and closed his eyes.  "Oh...nobody...no!  I took a hit to the head...have to get stitches and I got a concussion.  Yeah  I'm sure I can get a note for work.  I don't know.  What?  Mr. Blaire, again?  Blake that guy gives me the creeps.  I know...I know, well someone can pass the message on to him.  I have no idea why he's always asking for me specifically.  Yeah right...  Well Let Michelle know I'm sorry I missed work, but hopefully I'll be in tomorrow.  'Kay.  Thanks.  Tell Lynn I said hi."

 

* * *

  
Miles stopped making faces when he heard Waylon invoke the name Blaire.  So, Mr. Blaire was interested in his little fish.  This might be the ticket to his story.  He sat back down after resting Waylon's bag of clothes back on the counter.  
  
"So, you work for Murkoff," Miles started feigning nonchalance, "They're a big international company aren't they?  You some big wig?"  
  
Waylon frowned and shook his head, It looked like that hurt.  Miles frowned but let Waylon continue, "I'm just an IT guy, nothing special."  
  
"I wouldn't say you're nothing special,"  Miles frowned, "You seem like a really nice guy." _(Considering you're working for Satan's minions.)_  
  
Waylon smiled and relaxed in his bed, "So You know my name and where I work.  What about you?"  
  
Miles nodded, "Upshur, Miles Upshur.  I'm a Journalist...Right now I'm working for a news mag.  The Kaypart Weekly.  They're still in print, but most of their income comes from online subscribers now.  They're small, not much notoriety there, but it pays the bills.  I also freelance when I can."  
  
"Wow," Waylon looked impressed, "That sounds much cooler than what I do."  
  
"Its not really, kind of boring most of the time actually," Miles admitted.  
  
"Still makes you sound cool.  I think I could picture you as one of those old timey reporters, wearing a fedora with a press pass sticking out of the band, and a big old camera with one of those huge flash bulbs," Waylon blushed, "...That sounds stupid now that I said it out loud."  
  
"Naw," Miles grinned, "I liked what you said."  Miles did.  He really liked this guy so far.  He hoped things would work out OK.  Getting the guy's employer exposed and shut down, displacing thousands of workers from their jobs...OK this was going to be tricky.  Guilt was for the weak, this was about the greater good!  Still, he didn't need to get attached to the cute little guy.


	3. Pain in the Head

Miles and Waylon were chatting casually, well mostly Miles was talking.  Waylon listened interestedly.  Waylon ocasionally winced.  Miles had to give him credit.  If the roles were reversed he would be bitching, complaining, and demanding to see a doctor.  As if summoned by this thought, a man in scrubs came in.  He was aging with dull blue eyes and a bad comb-over.  He looked his patient up and down and smiled creepily, "Ah here's our patient.  I'm Dr. Andrews.  I'm going to be going over your CT scan results and  we're going to get you stitched up.  Then, if you are feeling well enough, we will see about discharging you."  
  
"Good," Waylon sighed.  He felt the back of his bandaged head and cringed.  
  
The doctor came over and sat casually on the edge of the hospital bed and put his hand on Waylon's knee.  Waylon shrunk back and Miles cleared his throat.  Dr. Andrews coughed and pulled his hand away.  He looked back at Waylon still very much apraising him.  Miles frowned and felt his chest tighten.  He wouldn't say he was jealous, so much as angry that a doctor would behave like that toward his cute little friend.  
  
The Doctor began to explain what was going on, "Well, it looks like you had a minor concussion.  Your brain got a little shook up there, but theres no swelling.  Your skin was lacerated but there were no fractures to your skull.  That's good news!"  He paused and stood from Waylon's bedside.  He smiled at the blond and circled the other side.  Miles was obligated to move to make room in the small space.  
  
Dr. Andrews placed a gloved hand on Waylon's cheek and shined a light in each of Waylon's eyes.  He continued speaking,  "Good, good.  If you take it easy for the next day or two you should be well enough to go about your normal routine, as long as you avoid operating heavy macherniery for a few days, don't do anything to jar your head, no rollercoaster rides Mr. Park," The doctor chuckled, "I want you to take it easy tomorrow.  Don't return to work until at least Thursday,"  He rubbed his thumb over the apple of Waylon's cheek.  The blond squirmed under the ministrations of the doctor.  Miles growled and the doctor stilled in his caress of the smooth skin.  He frowned but not where Miles could see it.  
  
He coughed again then picked back up on what he had been saying, looking at his chart, "I see you are already taking pain medication for your ankle.  Keep taking your perscribed dose as needed.  It should help for the headaches, if you need additional help you can take no more than two Acetaminophen every six to eight hours.  If you have a persistent headache for more than a few days I would like you to be seen by a doctor.  If you don't have a GP come back here, I would also like to see you back in three weeks to get your stitches removed, if there is continued swelling we can do more tests then.  Now if you wouldn't mind lying face down I would like to look at the injury."  
  
"OK," Waylon said meekly and shuffled carefully under the blanket.  He was shaking, more from nerves than the chill of the hospital's climate controled air.  He felt a hand on his, and looked up to see Miles standing next to him.  Miles squeezed his hand and smiled reassuringly.  
  
Dr. Andrews took a pair of scissors from his pocket and began to carefully cut the bandage wrapped around Waylon's head.  Waylon hissed when the gauze was peeled away from his cut.  The doctor hummed, "Not so bad it was a fairly clean cut."  
  
Lisa appeared at the door pushing a cart of supplies, "Looks like I'm just on time."  She smiled at Waylon and Miles; and brought a bottle of saline solution over and a few more strips of gauze to the doctor.  Miles felt a bit ill looking at the needles and other implements on the cart.  he turned his focus back to Waylon's face.  His brow was furrowed and his eyes screwed up tight.  
  
"The nurse already cleaned the wound but I wanted to have a look inside and gage the extent of the tissue damage before closing it up.  I apologize if this hurts.  I'm going to give you a local ansteic," He held out his hand and Lisa handed a syringe and a bottle to him.  Dr. Andrews read the bottle and nodded before withdrawing a small ammount.  He handed the bottle back to the nurse.  
  
Waylon frowned and pinched his eyes closed.  Miles squatted down to be on his level and whispered, "If it hurts you can squeeze my hand."  
  
Waylon's adorable face lit up bright red and he growled, "I'm not having your fucking baby Miles."  
  
Miled giggled, when Waylon glared at him he tried to straighten his face, "God, you are too precious."  
  
"Fuck you Upshur," Waylon winced.  
  
"If you would please stop talking," Dr. Andrews said impatently, "I need you still for this...Now then, I'm going to give you that local you're going to feel a pinch then the area should go numb.  You will still feel pressure but no pain."  
  
"Mmmhmm,"  Waylon hummed his assent.  
  
"Good, well here we go," The doctor injected Waylon, and true to his words after the initial sting, the area went a bit fuzzy, like it was asleep.  It felt annoying but it was better than seering pain. Waylon cursed himself when he realized he had been squeezing Miles' hand hard. He relaxed his grip, but feeling the pressure of a return squeeze from the Journalist was comforting and kind of pleasant in this circumstance.  
  
He wanted to thank Miles for sticking it out with him.  Miles was looking into his eyes as he lay there with his cheek smooshed into the hospital bed.  Waylon liked Miles eyes they were pretty.  He'd not say something like that to another guy.  He wasn't stupid!  Socially awkward and normally an introvert, but not stupid.   Actually there was something about Miles that drew him out of his shell, that in and of itself scared him, but he liked it.  It was the kind of scare that you got just before your first time on a diving board, or when he started climbing.  He loved hiking and rock climbing.  It was his one athletic outlet and he always got his thrills.  It was always like the first time.  Miles gave him that same thrill.  
  
"Were going to start," Andrews warned, "Try to remain still and I'll make this as quick as possible."  
  
Waylon grimaced when he felt the pressure of the needle digging into his skin.  He felt a finger on his his cheek and looked back at Miles who was stroking it softly.  It wasn't like the doctor's touch.  It was soft and comforting.  Miles ruined it by smirking and uttering, "You really are precious."  
  
Waylon frowned but didn't move.  He wanted this over with, the sooner he got stitched up the better.  He had no idea how long he had been there but he was hungry and tired; and he just wanted to get home, throw on his pajamas, and pass out for the rest of the day.  
  
Miles chided himself, he was getting attached already.  Waylon wasn't some lost puppy, so why was he petting him and calling him precious?  Well his face was nice, much nicer to look at than all that medical equipment.  Waylon wasn't the only one that had problems with hospitals, but he had a fear of what was in the hospital.  He would be doing much worse than the blond if they had traded places.  They would have had to sedate him honestly.  Being this close to needles and suchers and sacples, but mostly the scissors, was harrowing enough.  He would never admit it.  He was good at putting on a brave face, but he had a bad expirence as a kid with a doctor and pair of scissors.  The doctor thought it was funny to pretend he was going to cut Miles little fingers off with a large and sharp looking pair of medical scissors, but he traumatized the eight year old Miles.  He had a recurring nightmare after of a zombified Doctor chasing him with a huge pair of scissors.  
  
Miles just kept looking at Waylon.  He enjoyed the view, and before he knew it the doctor was tying off the stitches.  Waylon felt fresh gauze going around his head.  
  
"Very good Mr. Park," Andrews touched his shoulder and rubbed.  Waylon bit his lip wanting to pull away.  The doctor smiled and leaned in, "Remember, Keep those stitches dry for two days.  After that you should be good to get in the shower.  If you keep your head above water, you are free to take baths.  We'll work on getting you discharged.  Remember to come back in three weeks.  We'll give you more specific instructions for caring for your stitches before you leave, OK?"  
  
"Thank you Dr. Andrews,"  Feeling free to move Waylon shrugged his shoulder, "May I get dressed now?"  
  
"Of course, but if you start to feel dizzy please alert someone," The doctor smiled over him.  Waylon had the urge to push him away but held back.  
  
"Well I best get back out there," Andrews smirked, _it was much less charming than when Miles did it,_ "There are other patients to tend to, but none as beguiling as you I'm sure, Mr. Park."  He winked at Waylon.  He really shouldn't do that.  Both Miles and Waylon cringed.  
  
Miles got up and went behind the doctor and reached for the privacy curtain.  He closed it and tossed Waylon's things on the bed, "Tell me if you need help."  He was only half kidding.  He wouldn't mind seeing the shorter man in the buff, but he had a sense of propriety unlike that creep doctor.  Seriously how was he still working, behaving like that?  Something to look into later.  
  
Miles steped out so Waylon could get dressed.  He really wished he could see Waylon in his Super Man boxers.  Bet that was a drool worthy sight.  Waylon pulled the curtain aside.  He stood, putting all his weight on his left foot.  His clothes were wrinkled and he had a large coffee stain on his shirt.  
  
"Err, really sorry about the coffee," Miles scratched the back of his head.  
  
Waylon shrugged, "I'll wash it."  His stomach gurgled and he rubbed it.  He looked at his phone.  It was already 2:46pm, "If I hurry I can catch the three o'clock bus."  
  
"Nah forget that. I'll give you a ride.  We can hit a drive-thru and get something to eat and I can take you home.  It's the least I could do,"  Miles offered hopefully.  
  
"You've already done more than the average person...If I didn't know any better I'd accuse you of being a stalker or something," Waylon jokingly accused.  
  
Miles frowned, "Stalkers dig through your trash and hide in the shadows taking creepy photos through your bedroom window."  
  
"You speek from expirence?" Waylon giggled when Miles gritted his teeth.  
  
"Ok you can take the bus and sit next to weridos and homeless people," Miles mock threatened.  
  
"Hey I ride the bus every day," Waylon defended his prefered transportation (well not prefered, he just didn't own a car).  
  
"Your point?" Miles chuckled.  
  
"Touché," Waylon smiled, "Enough teasing, where is this supposed car?  ...You better not be a murding psycho."  
  
"Nah too lazy," Miles gently elbowed him, "You know how much work goes into murder clean up? Beleive me it's not worth the catharsis."  
  
Waylon paled, but Miles waved his hands, "No...I havent contemplated murder...I'm a journalist.  I've covered some grisley cases."  
  
"I-I'm sure you have some instering stories...I'll not ask...at least not until I feel less wobbly," Waylon said.  
  
"So you would want to hang out again?"  Miles smiled genuinly.  He looked so much younger when he wasn't smirking or scowling.  
  
"Sure,"  Waylon turned and tried to hobble out the door.  
  
He flet a hand on his elbow, "Not so fast, you haven't been officially checked out and you should take a seat.  I'll have to walk a few blocks to get my Jeep, and you're not going all that way on crutches, which aren't here...Shit, I hope they grabbed them for you.  Damn, I'll hunt down Lisa and ask her about them.  Then I'll go get our ride.  I'll bring her closer while you wait for your release papers."  Miles directed Waylon back to the bed.  
  
"Ok...You're really coming back?"  He suddenly felt unsure.  
  
"Of course...I mean, if I was going to leave you behind I would have long ago,"  He gave a warm smile.  Waylon's chest fluttered.  
  
"Kay," Waylon blushed again.  
  
So much blushing.  Miles found his blush so pretty, "I'll be back as soon as possible."  
  
He left Waylon smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed Andrew into Dr. Andrews because he didn't have a last name that I could find, but he's still a creep. Also Sorry If I abused the word cute, and any synonyms of the word cute. Again, sorry I'm stretching this out so much. I think I might like to consolodate the first three chapters into one long chap, but I'm not sure I should.


	4. Thanks for the Ride

Miles hiked six blocks looking for his Jeep, "Where are you baby?"  He must have parked further away than he remembered.  He had passed the coffee shop on his way.  There was a small patch of rusty brown on the ground there where Waylon nearly cracked his head open.  Miles shuddered at the thought, "Surprised they haven't tried to clean that up."    He was glad it wasn't worse.  
  
He was sure his Jeep was just a block away from the shop, but he hadn't seen it.  He hoped he hadn't gotten towed.  That would suck on so many levels.  He had paid the meter for eight hours.  It hadn't been that long, had it?  But they wouldn't have towed his Jeep!  Then he finally saw his baby...and a metermaid writting a ticket.  Miles ran up to her, "Hey wait I'm here!  Theres no need for that."  
  
"I'm sorry sir  your meter expired thirty minutes ago," The woman looked up at him she was probably five foot nothing and weighing in at maybe one hundred pounds but her face was set hard, like she dared him to argue with, or try to intimidate her.  
  
"Listen lady," Miles straightened to his full height, "I just spent about seven hours in the emergency room with a friend.  I would have been back in time otherwise."  
  
"Well that was very kind of you, but the law is the law,"  She handed him the ticket and smirked, "Lucky you came back when you did.  The fine isn't too bad."  The woman hopped into her little official looking golf cart and motored off.  
"Miles cursed to himself and looked at the ticket," He crumped it in his hand, "Seventy- five fuckin' bucks."

 

* * *

  
Waylon sat in front of the hospital on a bench, his crutches proped up beside him.  His care instructions, and appointment reminder, were clutched in his hand and he was looking at his phone.  It had been thirty-three and a half minutes since he had been dismissed from the hospital.  Miles wasn't coming back, Waylon frowned.  He bounced his good leg nervously, but quickly halted the motion; as it jarred his injuries too much, causing him to wince.  He was about to get up and start toward the bus stop when he heard shouting.  He looked up at the pickup/drop off area.  
  
"Fuck you too buddy!" Miles was walking backward waving the double middle finger salute to some old man in a ratty sweater vest and who was returning the favor from his rusted out Lincoln.  
  
Waylon frowned, Miles seemed awfully confrontational.  Maybe he should just catch a bus home.  He was plotting his escape when Miles turned and spotted him.  His scowl melted into a smirk and he waved, "Glad to see you waited on me.  It wouldn't have taken so long, but I parked further away than I remembered.  ...And then there was this meter maid writing me a ticket and...well we can talk about it in the jeep.  Come on,"  He offered a hand to Waylon.  The shorter man gave him a nervous smile.  God he hoped Miles wasn't some kind of serieal killer, but there were plenty of whitnesses if he were kidnapped or turned up dead.  Waylon felt really stupid, but he took the profered hand and let Miles haul him up.  The taller man was pretty strong.  Part of Waylon wanted to know what lay under the leather jacket and bluejeans.  
  
Waylon adjusted his crutches under his arms and hopped along beside Miles to a cherry red Jeep, "Nice car."  
  
Miles huffed and put his hands on his hips, "This is not just a car,  She's a Jeep Patriot and she's my baby.  A little respect please."  
  
"Ok, ok," Waylon grinned, "Cool Jeep."  
  
"Damn right," Miles smirked and opened the door for the other man.  Waylon climbed in and Miles took his crutches and stashed them in the back seat.  He slid behind the steering wheel, "How about we go get some chow? My treat."  
  
"You don't have to," Waylon shook his head but his stomach released another pitiful growl.  
  
"Come on," Miles snapped his seat belt and shoved his key in the ignition, "I'm hungry, you're hungry.  Lets just get something to go and I'll take you home after that."  
  
"Ok," Miles smiled and looked out the window as Miles pulled out.  
  
"Put your seatbelt on," Miles reminded him.

Waylon blushed for the thousandth time that day, "Sorry."  
  
"No worries,"  Waylon felt a hand on his shoulder.  Miles was looking in the mirror as he signaled and pulled away from the curb.  
  
Waylon leaned back in the passenger's seat and sighed.  The vehicle offered his poor back much needed support after lying on a hard bed for almost eight hours.  He hadn't actually injured his back but his head and ankle seemed to throb in sync.  He threw his hand over his mouth and yawned.  He felt drained.  
  
"What do you want to eat?"  Miles called his attention with he question.  
  
Waylon yawned again, into his hand, "Oh I don't know.  I don't have a preference."  
  
"I'm thinking burgers...or maybe a chicken sandwich?  How's your stomach not queasy are you?"  Suddenly Miles was rolling down the windows, "If you need to puke please do it out the window."  Waylon wasn't sure if the other was kidding.  Miles frowned, "I don't want my sweet baby smelling like your up-chuck."  
  
"I'm not going to _up-chuck_ ," Waylon frowned, "Dick."  
  
Miles snorted again, "I think I love you."  
  
Waylon's eyes went wide and his hand wanted to reach for the door handle but they were already in traffic.  
  
"Relax Way," Miles smirked, "I'm just teasing."  
  
Waylon tried to relax, "Creep."  He smirked back at Miles, but the effect just wasn't the same he didn't have a good face for smirking.  
  
"Adorable," Miles uttered to himself and changed lanes, "There we are.  So think you can handle a burger?"  He turned into a parking lot.  Waylon nodded.  His body was begging for sustinence.  
  
He let his stomach do the talking,  "A double cheese burger.  No fries, I hate french fries.  ...Maybe um, I can have an apple pie too?"  
  
"Whatever you want," Miles smiled.  
  
They pulled throught the drive-thru, miles paid and they got their food.  
  
"Tell me how to get to your house," Miles handed him the bag.  
  
"Know where the Lakewood is?" Waylon said as he opened the bag and started to dig out a burger, "Near St. Anthony Hospital Turn on West Cedar Drive."  
  
"Yeah, ok," Miles held out his hand, "Mind unwrapping my burger for me?"  
  
"Sure,"  Waylon unwrapped the sandwich and handed it over.  He pulled his own out and did the same, "Sure you can handle eating and driving at the same time?"  
  
"Yeah," Miles shurgged, "I travel a lot, eating and driving at the same time is nothing.  I just ask that you put all the trash back in the bag when your done.  
  
"Kay,"  Waylon stuffed the burger wrapper from Miles' sandwich back in the bag and bit into his food carefully.  Waylon moaned as he chewed the burger and Miles had to swerve around a stopped car into the center lane.  All the blood in his body rushed to his groin, god Waylon sounded hot.  
  
"You really were hungry," He smiled as he got back in the correct lane honking and flipping the bird at a truck and geting an angry cursing back.  He bit into his burger to stifle a moan of his own as he caught the blond licking katchup off his lips.  
  
"Guess so...they went a little overboard on the condiments but I'm not complaining,"  He smiled at the driver and turned his attention back to his food.  He kept making pleased little noises that each hit Miles like a ton of sexy bricks.  Miles was going to get blueballs at this rate.  
  
"So what street am I looking for?" Miles tried to act casual and hoped his jeans were doing a decent job of hiding his bulge.  He bit back a moan when Waylon finished his burger and licked some katchup off his thumb. Then he dug for the pie at the bottom of the bag.  Part of Miles hoped he would just deep throat the pastry.  It'd be over for Miles, he'd cream his boxers.  
  
Miles was watching Waylon as they sat at a traffic light.  Waylon looked over confused at the eager look on his companion's face.  Waylon opened the pie box, "Cedar Drive.  I live in Pine View Apartments, number twenty-seven."  He took a bite out of the pie and made another happy moan, "So good."  
  
Miles slammed on the breaks and both men were jerked forward.  Angry honks sounded behind them.  
  
"You ok?"  Waylon looked concerned, crumbs from his food clung to his lips and Miles just wanted to lick them off.  Damn he needed to get control of himself.  
  
"Yeah, thought I saw a dog run out in front of us,"  He started moving again.  Waylon let a releived sigh escape his lips.  
  
Miles frowned as he felt his manhood twitching.  He cursed himself for letting the little guy _(Waylon, not his dick)_ get to him so easily.  This whole thing was going to end badly if he thought with his second brain.  
  
Before they knew it, they were turning into the parking lot.  It was what some would call quaint, others run down.  The apartment complex was large rows of townhouse style apartments, covered in brick.  Waylon loved his apartment when he didn't have crutches but the stairs were such a bother he slept on his couch lots of nights, besided his bedroom was drafty and his ankle was sensitive to heat and cold.  He felt bad for his neighbor.  She was a sweet little eighty-nine year old widow with a cane the stairs must be awful on her.

She had a devil cat that loved him for some reason.  Mrs. Gluskin doted on the cat she had dubbed Eddie.  Eddie hated him when he first moved in next door, hissing and scratching at him but it wasn't long until he realized the cat growled at him less and less.  None of the other neighbors would get near the beast though; so he had no idea how meaningful it was when the cat finally let him scratch behind its ears.  
  
He felt the car stop and Miles got out of the drivers seat.  Waylon started to get out too.  Then he remembered his crutches.  Miles appeared beside him holding his crutches.  Waylon blushed when Miles took his hand and helped him out of the vehicle.  He supported him until he could get his crutches under his arms.

Suddenly a black and white blur streaked across the parking lot.  Miles yelped and jumped back nearly making Waylon fall back against the Jeep.  The cat growled and batted at Miles leg.  Then circled Waylon's legs and crouched in front of him baring his teeth and hissing at Miles.  
  
"What the hell?  Waylon careful I think that thing has rabies or something?  Look at its face!"  It was rather distrubing to look at.  The cat's face was covered with scaring _(mostly on the left side)_ and he had one light blue eye.  The other eye _(the left)_ was closed he could only guess what lay under that eyelid if anything.  
  
Waylon shook his head, "That's my neighbor's cat, Eddie.  He's **_really_** teritorial.  He got attacked by a pitbull that's why his face looks so bad.  He's the reason I broke my ankle actually.  I had to climb that tree over there to get him down after the attack."  The blond pointed to an oak with a torn limb.  Waylon carefully leaned down and put his hand on top of Eddie's head and he slowly rubbed between his tattered ears.  The cat had been handsome until that dog had wrecked his face.  A large fluffy tuxedo cat.  He'd always been agressive before and had hated Waylon until he had come to his rescue.

"He was terrified.  I have no idea how he got away from the dog but he was treed, Poor boy.  The pitbull's owner came and finally got his dog under control just before the police arrived.  I thought I'd get Eddie out of the tree.  He was hurt really bad, as you can see.  Mrs. Gluskin has no family, all she has is Eddie.  It would break her heart if he died afraid and trapped, so I went up...Eddie gave me a few good claw marks but I managed to get hold of him.  Then the stupid branch cracked and we went down.  I landed on my ankle funny, but I kept him from getting banged up worse.  Now he treats me like his property.  He only lets Mrs. Gluskin and me touch him...as far as I know."  Slowly Eddie calmed and made a chirping noise at Waylon who slowly picked him up.  He threw Eddie over his shoulder and readjusted his crutches.   The large cat lounged in comfort in spite of Waylon's jarring form of locomotion.  Waylon hobbled toward his door.  Miles followed at a safe distance.  
  
Eddie was purring loudly but when Miles tried to come closer he let out a warning growl and laid his claws into Waylon's shoulder.  _Waylon was his human!_   Waylon petted the cat and purring mixed with the growls emmiting from the cat's throat.  
  
"Well I guess here is where we part ways," Waylon said feeling awkward, "Thanks...Thank you for everything."  
  
"So...you wouldn't mind if I called you sometime?" Miles asked hopefully and smiled.  
  
"Yeah," Waylon said blushing again.  He didn't understand why he was blushing so much, but Miles had turned out to be a very nice guy, even if he was rough around the edges.  He nodded, "I'd like that...You have my number already...so...I...well I'm beat and I just want to get a hot bath and go to bed."  
  
"Well I'll be leaving.  You take care.  Miles took out his phone and quickly sent a text.  Waylon's phone beeped, "I texted you back...I mean in case you couldn't find my number in your history.  Well now you can call me too.  If you need anything or want to hang out sometime."  
  
Miles wanted to get closer but the damn cat's growl intensified almost as if it read his mind.  He backed away and got in his Jeep, "Take care Way."  He pulled out and looked back to see the blond man waving at him.  Miles groaned, finally alone he looked at his lap, "I fucking hate you right now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not from colorado and have never been, I don't know what Denver or any other places there look like. I'm not going to try super hard to make the geography accurate to real life. I did a google map search for Denver Colorado and I used street and district names but changed some of the names of businesses and Waylon's apartment building.
> 
> Also I don't know if $75.00 is what a parking ticket would cost. I pulled the number out of my butt. maybe it would be twice that. I have no idea.
> 
> ...Aaaannnnnddddd...Eddie Gluskin is a cat ^x^


	5. Good Night

Waylon took a detour to Mrs. Gluskin's apartment, and knocked.  
  
"Coming!"  A weathered voice came through the door.  The door opened and the smell of fresh cinnamon buns hit him hard.  He had just eaten, but they smelled mouth watering.  The good lady was baking again.  She was such a sweetie, too bad she had such a sad life.     
  
"Waylon dear,"  She smiled dusting her hands off on her apron.  She looked like she had stepped out of the fifties, with her soft pink sweater and long skirt.  She wasn't using her cane.  It was a good day then.  She noticed the cat resting contentedly on his shoulder and tuted, "Eddie you rascal.  I was calling him for hours.  I swear I don't know how he gets out.  Well, thank you dear, would you like to come in?"  
  
Waylon thought of his hot bath and then thought of having to bag up his cast to acomplish that and sighed.  
  
"Oh you're injured?  Goodness, come in,"  She must have noticed the bandage on his head he concluded.  She grabbed his hand and tugged.  
  
"I can only stay a minute Mrs. Gluskin," Waylon didn't have the heart to say no.  
  
"Stay long enough for a bite to eat and some tea," She begged.  
  
"Ok but I'm awfully sore after the fall I took," Waylon warned her gently.  
  
She gasped, "Not your leg again is it?  Oh I just feel so awful,  If I could keep Eddie indoors that would never have happened."  She worried as she urged him toward an over-stuffed chair with a faded floral pattern.  
  
Waylon sat carefully and put his crutches to one side.  Eddie scrambled up the back of the chair and claimed his favorite spot.  He began grooming himself swatting the back of Waylon's head with his tail. Waylon looked at her and smiled, "No ma'am  I bumped into someone and got knocked to the ground.  I just got a bump on the head, but I'll be alright.  I had a doctor look at it."  
  
"Good, I hate to think of you being hurt.  You're such a nice young man. Now I'll get tea on,"  She shuffled into the kitchen.  Waylon looked around at the pictures on the wall.  A handsome young man, Waylon knew to be her son, Edward smiled at him from a highschool photo.  Waylon only knew a little of his story.  He was murdered by his father and his father died in prison.  Mrs. Gluskin doesn't like to talk about it, but when she has bad days ocasionally she has dementia.  On those days he sometimes has gotten glimpses into a tortured and abused past for the woman and her son.  
  
Betty Gluskin didn't have any family close enough either in blood or geographically to look in on her so Waylon kind of took up the responsibility.  He finally talked her into getting a med-alert necklace, but she's been pretty much alone since her family's tragic breakup and stubbornness is a trait born out of necessity.  She had been a house wife who took in sewing to make extra money, before.  She had to get a job and work, and she still lived in the apartment where her son was killed inspite of the horrible memories.  
  
According to Mrs. Gluskin, Edward had inherited her talent for sewing.  He told her he wanted to be a taylor when he graduated highschool.  He was gifted, had a few trophies for sewing compititions.  From the outside, things must have looked ideal, but well there must have been something terribly wrong. What kind of father would kill his only child?  
  
Eddie was named after Edward, he was a feral kitten that was abondoned in the alley behind the apartment complex and the gentle lady rescued him from the streets, nursed him up and he became her family.  She found him almost ten years to the day of her son's death.  She had been feeling very low herself, but nursing the sickly kitten into a healthy rambunctious cat helped ease her pain somewhat.  Eddie was about fifteen years old and his name sake would have been fourty-six if he had lived.  Waylon had always felt sad looking at the man's picture.  He was barely a man when his father took his life, and looking at the smiling teenager in the picture the blond man saw strikingly blue eyes, they looked haunted.  What had that man been through in his life to have such sad eyes at such a young age.  
  
"There you are Waylon dear,"  Mrs. Gluskin set a saucer and teacup on the table next to his chair and another small plate with a few cookies and one big steaming hot sweet bun, "It's no grand meal but it's comfort food.  Why don't you tell me about your day?"  
  
Waylon smiled at the motherly woman and told her everything.  It was good to get the stress of the day out to a sympathetic ear.  
  
"It sounds like that young man likes you,"  She smiled knowingly.  
  
The woman was a saint; no judgment, no hate.  She was aware that Waylon wasn't exactly straight and she accepted him for what he was; a good and kind man.  His own family had been less than accepting when he came out as a teenager.  He was shamed right back into the closet by his strict christian family.  He dated a few girls to appease his parents, but he knew he'd never be happy.  He didn't want to lie to someone who put their love and trust in him.  
  
"I wouldn't say that ma'am," Waylon was blushing once again, "We only just met and he really only helped me out of a sense of obligation, I'm sure."  
  
"Nonsense,"  She wagged her finger, "...And he would be a fool not to admit it.  You're quite the catch."  Waylon ducked his head to hide his red cheeks.  He hissed as the sudeen movement agrivated his wound.  
  
"Oh goodness,"  The woman stood, "Does it hurt, should I call a doctor?"  
  
"I'm fine," Waylon slowly looked up, "I...Thank you for the tea and everything but I'm really tired I want to go to bed and sleep for a month or two."  He smiled at her and she chuckled and patted his hand.  
  
"Okay dear,"  She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, "You go rest Ed- Waylon." She blushed and cast her eyes down.  It wasn't the first time that had happened and it was happening more often lately.  She would see her son in Waylon's place.  Waylon felt a stabbing pain in his chest as he saw tears gathering in her eyes.  She let out a stuttery breath and wiped the tears away.  
  
Waylon grabbed her hand and squeezed, "Thank you Mrs. Gluskin.  You're a peach."  
  
She smiled and kissed his hand.  Thankful to him for pretending not to notice her slip-up.  
  
"Good evening dear,"  She called to him as he hobbled out the door, shutting it before the cat got any ideas of escaping.

 

* * *

  
Miles made it to his apartment in record time.  He threw his leather jacket on the couch.  He snarled.  His groin ached with want.  He had an image of the short blond in his mind as he unbuttoned his pants.  
  
_'Don't do this you idiot!'_   His mind demanded, but his hand was groping himself through his underwear.  Boxers and pants were dropped and he slowly pictured Waylon eating that pie, moaning like a whore, lips wrapped around the tube shaped crust and sucking apple filling into his mouth.

"Fuck!"  His hips bucked into his hand and he was done, "I need to get laid."  His little man twitched and he growled, "Forget it, he's a lead and only a lead!  You never fuck your source!  Bad idea!"  
  
Unbidden, an imaged of the willowy blond came to him; limbs strewn and hair flared out on a pillow rather than on concrete.  Panting and only covered by a tented bedsheet as he awaited Miles.  The brunet obligingly crawling on top of him.  They made sweet passionate love.  
  
MIles bit his lip and his hand was rubbing again, barely any refractory period.  He really needed to fuck someone.  Someone that was **not** Waylon!  He growled and removed his hand from his dick.  He grabbed his jeans and boxers, wiping his mess on them as he went to his bathroom.  He stirpped the rest of his clothes off and threw them into the hamper.  He turned the shower to cold.  Stepping under the spray, he gasped as the icy droplets hit his over heated skin, "G-get a f-f-fukin' grip,  U-upshur!"  His teeth chattered.  
  
He felt his situation calming slowly as he got used to the stinging cold.  Miles got out, shivering as he toweled off he got a pair of flannel pants and a tee-shirt out.  He pulled the fresh clothes on and went back out to the living room.  It was too early for bed and he had just eaten, so some mindless television sounded fine.  He heard a chime from his jacket pocket as he sat down.  He pulled his phone out and saw a text notification...

  
_____________6:23 PM_______________

_**Waylon:** Hey wanted to say thaks again._

He smiled when another text came.

 

 _ **Waylon:** Hope his it the right number miles_  
_If this itn't miled i'm dorry._

 

_**Waylon:** :P Sorry again Miles._

 

 _ **Waylon:** I should stop texting you now.  Sleepy._  
_Well I'm goin to hit the hay.  G'night._

 

Miles's thumbs flew over the little keyboard, in reply.

  
_**Miles:** It's me you goof.  XP_  
_Have a good night.  If you need anything I'm a call away._

  
  
_**Waylon:** Ok, and really thanks again. XD_  
  
Miles grinned, looking at his phone.  Waylon was unbearably cute.  His chest tingled with a warm fuzzy feeling, he hated it!

 

* * *

  
  
Waylon read Miles text and smiled.  He hugged the phone feeling more like a teenage girl going all mushy over a crush than he'd ever admit.  Miles was handsom and worldly.  He would never go for a nerdy, sheltered IT guy.  He didn't even know for sure that Miles was into guys.  Sure his teasing could have been flirting, but then again Waylon thought he was probably reading into things too much.

  
Waylon plugged in his phone and set it on his night stand.  He wasn't going to set his alarm since he wasn't going to work in the morning.  He drew his blinds and slipped into bed. He yawned covering his mouth and snuggled down under his comforter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Mrs. Gluskin older, she would have been 43 when she gave birth to Eddie. Eddie was an "autum" baby (meaning his mother was pretty much at the end of her youth). IDK what his cannon childhood was like except that he was sexually and physically abused by his father and uncle, but IDK about his mother but this is an AU and I'm making Eddie's mother a nice person. Eddie's life was cut short before he had a chance to become a monster (maybe).


	6. Sick Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I want to thank everybody who's been reviewing. I apriciate any encouragment and as always please don't be shy of critisizing me. I don't have a beta or anything so I'm going back and reading my chapters over and over scanning for mistakes.

Waylon jolted up in bed.  He hissed in pain.  His head was throbbing, but what had his attention was the insistent ring of his phone.  He snatched up the device and after deciding not to smash it against his bedroom wall he answered.  Squinting at his alarm clock he saw it was just past noon.  
  
"Um hello," Waylon called out in a sleep drenched voice.  
  
"Park, where the hell are you?"  The voice shouted through the phone.  Waylon cringed and frowned.  
  
"Mr. -Mr. Blaire?  Sir?" Waylon was puzzled.  
  
"Why aren't you at work?  I've got a situation here and I want you here in an hour," The phone went quiet before Waylon could explain that he was supposed to be resting, on doctor's orders.  
  
He groaned.  He could never make it in an hour, and why was Mr. Blaire himself calling him.  Waylon was desperate.  He knew he couldn't possibly get there on time if he took a bus.  Mrs. Gluskin owned a car but he neither wanted to borrow her only transportation, nor did he feel good about her driving, period.  
  
He reminded himself that he knew someone who owned a Jeep.  He hated to call on the guy and he had no idea how far away Miles lived.  Waylon sighed and looked through his contacts.

 

* * *

 

"Miles groped for his phone.  He muted the TV.  He had fallen asleep on his couch.  Miles swiped his screen and sluggishly raised his phone to his ear.  He listened for a second then called out, "Hello?"  
  
"Um, Miles?" Waylon's timid voice came through.  
  
Miles woke up almost instantly hearing that voice, "Waylon?  Are you ok?"  
  
"Sort of," Waylon drawled.  Miles frowned but waited.  The other man continued, "Could you possibly do me a favor?  My boss just called and demanded I be at work within the hour.  I have to walk six blocks to get to the nearest bus stop, and..."  
  
"Yeah  I get it.  I can be there in thirty minutes,"  Miles was already heading for his bedroom.

  
"Great thanks," Miles could hear the smile through the phone and smiled in return.  Waylon sighed, "You are a life saver.  I'll have to make it up to you some how."  
  
Miles could think of ways the shorter man could make it up to him but he refrained from that line of thinking.  That was not OK teritory to tred.  
  
"Well I better go get ready," Waylon paused, "Thank you again, I'll be waiting out front when you get here."  
  
"Sure," Miles answered back, "I'll be there soon."  He hung up, and took a investigative sniff under his arms.  He smelled decent.  He dropped his phone on his bed and rummaged through his closet for something to wear.

 

* * *

  
  
Waylon was waiting on his front steps.  Seeing the red Jeep pull in was such a relief.  He hopped to the vehicle and smile weakly.  He felt awful, but he had to go to work anyway.  Miles got out and helped him with his crutches. "You have no idea how grateful I am," Waylon thanked him.  
  
Miles noded and returned to his seat, "Why are you going to work?  I thought you were supposed to be resting today."  
  
Waylon frowned so deeply he thought he could feel his stitches pull.  His head was throbbing, "I should be but Mr. Blaire called me in.  He's my boss's boss's boss.  I have no idea why but he had been calling on me specifically since I started with the company.  For little things too, like setting up an email account, or setting up his new phone.  One time he needed me to plug his surge protector back in for him.  I had to crawl under his desk and he stood there and watched me like it was the most facinating thing in the world."  
  
Miles noded along, but he could imagine the view.  That pert derriere wiggling around while the sexy blond man was on his hands and knees.  If he were Blaire he'd have Waylon in his office as often as possible.  A spark of jealousy rose in his chest at the thought.  
  
"He stares," Waylon shuddered, "I've caught him staring at me.  He comes down to our department a lot.  I have no idea what his deal is, but he likes picking on me particulary.  I mean he always askes for me.  There have been times when I've been pulled from a task just so I can go plug his desk lamp back in."  
  
"Maybe he has the hots for you?" Miles trummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he turned a corner.  He saw the Murkoff building in the distance, and felt his heart sink.  
  
"Please don't even joke about that," Waylon sounded exasperated, "Jeremy Blaire is a notorious womanizer."  In his mind he was hoping that Miles was wrong.  Mr. Blaire frightened him enough as it was.  
  
They pulled into the parking lot outside the building.  Miles shrugged, "He could be bi."  
  
Waylon shook his head, "Well I don't care, he's creepy.  Um, Thank you for the ride I really apriciate it, and you."  He blushed and smiled.  Miles got out and grabbed Waylon's crutches.  
  
"It's not a problem.  I'm glad to help,"  He assisted the shorter man out of his Jeep.  
  
"Well thank you.  I really can't say it enough,"  Waylon moved away from the car.  He looked at his phone he had about five minutes.  Waylon had an urge to kiss Miles' cheek but he held back.  It would be totally inappropriate.  
  
"You're welcome," Miles smiled smugly, "Maybe you can treat me to dinner sometime."  He was only half joking, but Waylon beamed.  
  
"That would be fun,"  He grabbed Miles' hand and squeezed it.  Feeling awkward but also warm and fuzzy inside, "How about this weekend sometime?  You can choose where we go."  
  
Miles looked at his hand.  He felt a spark of something everytime he touched the other man.  He wanted to jerk back.  It wasn't too late.  He could call off his plans, but he couldn't give up his story.  Taking Waylon up on his offer would be good for getting closer to him.  He felt like he was deceiving the small man.  It felt lousy.  He forced a grin, "I'll text you later."  
  
"Okay,"  He let go and waved, "I better go I don't wanna piss off Mr. Blaire."  
  
"See you later Way,"  Miles got back in his jeep.  He watched Waylon hopping to the front doors.  Miles sighed, "You need this story.  Just as long as you don't fucking sleep with him things will be cool."

 

* * *

 

Jeremy Blaire tapped his fingers.  He did not like to be kept waiting.  He didn't feel guilty calling someone in from a sick day.  The blond man was his.  He knew the idiot didn't realise it yet but he owned the man.  He had a contract.  He belonged to Murkoff and Jeremy inherited responsibility for him since he was lucky enough to be the excutive over the Denver branch.  
  
 Jeremy had a real thing for blonds.  His secretery was a hot blond bombshell.  He fucked her on ocassion.  She was married, but she was willing enough to bend for him...Had seemed eager to take his dick even.  She was boring though.  Jeremy was rich, handsome and connected.  Pussy was easy to snag.  A hot little twink was harder to come by.  He had to keep his prefrences discrete.  
  
When Waylon had applied he had nothing to do with his hiring, but the day he walked in Jeremy happened to be in the lobby.  He saw this wide eyed boy with shaggy blond hair and a tight little body.  Waylon walked up to the security guard to sign in.  That butt wiggled as he shifted from one foot to the other nervously...Fuck! Blare wanted to sink into that hot ass.  
  
He looked like a lost highschool student; but he held out his ID to the security guard, smiling congenially.  That smile was so sweet.  It almost made Jeremy hard thinking of those lips wraped around his cock.  Jeremy walked over and introduced himself.  The little man blushed and shook his hand.  God he was adorable.  Jeremy couldn't help but pull him in close, "Glad to have you on our team."  He had wanted to say more but he really had no idea what department the small man worked in, or what he did there.  Waylon looked really uncomfortable at their closeness.  Jeremy leered at him.  Oh he couldn't wait to get the man under him.  
  
As soon as he found out that Waylon was their newest tech, he conveniently started having issues that demanded the attention of the IT department.  He'd started slowly.  He couldn't get his computer to turn on, oops unplugged!  That rear wiggled so nicely under his desk while he checked the connections.  Then he bought a new phone.  Those office phones can be a bitch to set up.  He leaned over Waylon's shoulder while the man set it up for him.  His breath ghosting across Waylon's neck.  The way he flinched was simply delectable.  
  
Today he brought in his personal laptop in.  It was infected with a particulatly nasty trogan virus.  It didn't hurt his personal files.  He'd paid someone to program the file to look like he got it through an email but to be basically innocuous.  All it did was to cause gay porn sites to pop up on the screen at random.  He would love to see the blond react to a twink getting spit-roasted between two muscular daddies.  He almost cackled at the thought.  He steepled his fingers and waited eagerly.

 

* * *

  
  
Waylon stopped by his department to check in.  He was met by a slightly overweight, older woman with curly, vibrant red hair.  It was pulled into a ponytail that bounced everytime she moved.  She was not happy to see him.  
  
"Park why are you here?"  His supervisor, Michelle Haas, sighed in exasperation, "You're injured.  You look pale as a ghost."  
  
Waylon noded.  He felt sick from the throbbing in his head, "Mr. Blaire called me?  There's some kind of problem?"  
  
She shook her head and red ringlets flung behind her, "He hasn't called any of us..."  The woman got a sympathetic look on her face.  Blaire had been picking on Waylon to do a lot of work for him personally.  
  
There were always rumors of other  people complaining about inappropriate behavior on the executive floors (It wasn't just Jeremy).  Mostly it was reports of verbal abuse, but some of them had claimed sexual harassment or even assult, and it wasn't just the women that had claimed that either.  
  
All of the ones claiming harassment ended up leaving, paid off to keep quiet, she assumed.  She had no idea where things went from there, but she was worried about Waylon.  He was so innocent, the slightest off color joke sent him into a blushing fit.  He seemed a bit emotionally fragile.  He might not fare well among the ruthless men and women on the top few floors, and he was a damn good worker.  She didn't want to lose another underling to Blaire's greedy clutches.  Shirly...She had quit sudenly, after one night she was kept late, alone with Mr. Blaire.  Shirley Pierce was a pretty young blonde.  Quite friendly and proficient with anything computer related.  Waylon was actually her replacement.  Coincidentally they were both bashful blonds.  The difference was that Shirley was married and pregnant.  Michelle wished she could keep in touch with the younger woman, and make sure she was ok; but She and her family tore up roots and moved out of state.  She knew Blaire had done something, but there was no evidence, and Shirley was unwilling or incapable of telling her anything.  
  
"We'll go up and see what the hell he wants," She said sudenly, "Then I want you to go home and I don't want to see you until Monday.  I'll have a word with Mr. Blaire about calling in one of my Techs on a sick day without speaking with me first."  
  
Waylon noded weakly in agreement.  Michelle walked throught the door and headed for the elevator.  Waylon started to follow.  He stumbled a bit as a wave of dizziness hit him.  His stitches throbbed.  He felt someone grabbing his arm before he could slam into the wall, "Waylon!"  
  
He blinked up and smiled, "Hey Blake."  
  
"Michelle!  Little help?"  She turned around after pushing the call button for the elevator.  She saw Waylon sagging in Blake's grip, "Let's get him to a chair."  The two of them supported the small man and guided him to an office chair where he slumped.  
  
"Sorry I had a dizzy spell," Waylon was clutching his head, "It's passing.  I'll go see what Mr. Blaire needs."  
  
" _Fuck Blaire!_   You're going back to the hospital," Michelle growled.  
  
Waylon flinched, "No-no...It's fine.  I'll be ok,"  His eyes wide.  He didn't want to go back to the hospital, especially alone.  **Forget that!**  
  
"Well," The older woman leaned back to give the panicked male some breathing space, "At lease rest for a few.  I'm still going to go see Mr. Blaire.  Anything he needs, I am more than capable of doing."

 

* * *

 

  
Jeremy heard the knock at his door.  Not the timid halting tap Waylon used before entering his office.  No that was a strong angry knock.  He cleared his throat and closed his laptop, "Come."  
  
"Mr. Blaire," Michelle curtly aknowledged him.  
  
"Mrs. Haas,"  He noded blandly, "Where is Mr. Park.  I'm assuming he stopped at your department first."  
  
"He did," She replied, "He's white as a sheet and he nearly fainted.  Why on earth did you call him in?  I informed you that he was off on sick leave today."  
  
Jeremy frowned, his little pet was off worse than he had sounded on the phone.  This wouldn't do at all, "Is he going to be ok?"  
  
The woman nearly hissed at him, "I'm sure he will, but he should be home resting!  Not doing your biding.  Anything you need taken care of any one of my people could handle!"  
  
Jeremy resisted the urge to smirk.  He doubted she realized what he really wanted taken care of, "Ok have someone take him home.  I'll speak with Mr. Park when he is well enough to return to work,"  Jeremy held up his hands in mock surrender.  
  
"Ok," Michelle gave a false smile, "Now then what did you call Waylon in for?"  
  
"Oh it can wait," Blaire smirked, "... But I'll be keeping Mr. Park quite busy when he returns."  
  
The woman wanted to protest but she knew she had pushed her limits with her boss.  She didn't fear him, but she also didn't want to have to find a new job at fifty.  She was comfortable where she was.  In spite of her beleif that some unseemly activities were going on behind the scenes, she couldn't help anyone by losing her position.  They'd eat someone like Waylon alive.  No, she convinced herself she was better able to protect her underlings from the inside, rather than being a whistleblower who would get swept under the rug.

 

* * *

  
Miles sat at the coffee shop watching the Murkoff building.  He had wanted to walk in with Waylon.   What kind of a place called in sick employees?  He had a bad feeling about it...no he wasn't attached to Waylon but that didn't mean he couldn't worry.  Cuppa Joe's was in the perfect spot to watch workers come and go from the building so when he saw a little blond (on crutches) being escourted to the parking lot by some brunette jackass in glasses he knew it was his blond.  Not _his_ blond, **damn it!**  
  
The pair were talking and smiling, but even across the street Miles saw how shakey and pale Waylon looked.  The other man helped Way into a dark blue sedan.  Miles couldn't tell what make it was.  He stashed Waylon's crutches in the backseat and got in.  They pulled out of the parking lot heading toward Lakewood.  Miles pulled out his phone and sent a text.  The timing shouldn't look suspicous.  One little text couldn't hurt.  
  
**Miles:** _How's things going at work?_  
  
He waitedfor a few minutes.  Nothing.  His hands itched to send a follow up text.  He reisited the urge.  He waited another ten minutes, still nothing.  The blue car was long gone, and Miles could not quiet the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.  He finished his coffee and left the shop.  He had work to do.  Waylon is an adult.  He could care for himself, except he was injured and possibly sick.  Miles stuffed his worry and guilt into his little metaphorical box.  Assured that Waylon was at least getting a ride home...By some touchy feely asshole... _that wasn't **him**_...He shook his head and supressed the urge to call Waylon.  Miles needed to get back to working on his investigation.  
  
He headed for his jeep and climbed in.  His planned next stop was the office of public records.  He'd been there enough times in the last few months that he was in a first name basis with the receptionist, Carl.  Miles had been reserching Murkoff for a while and he knew he couldn't trust anything on public record.  However, there were always  slip-ups and clues to find.  He may not need Way to give him any information in the end and if he could do this with out involving the guy he would.

 

* * *

  
  
Waylon felt his phone buzz in his pocket.  He pulled it out but his head hurt so bad his vision was blurring.  
  
"Hey Waylon, you need anything before I drop you off I have no problem running in a store for you," The driver looked over at him as he stared at his phone.  
  
"Huh?  Oh no,  Thanks anyway Blake.  I really apriciate the ride."  Waylon tried to smile, but the pain in his head kept it small.  
  
They pulled in.  Blake insisted on helping him into his apartment.  He got the little man on his sofa.  
  
"I'll see you on Monday," Blake waved at him, "I'll lock up on my way out...If you feel worse promise you'll see a doctor?"  
  
"Yeah," Waylon was laying on his sofa, "Promise."  His eyes were heavy and sleep sounded so good right then.  
  
Blake was treated to the sounds of snores as he walkedd out.  He shook his head.  Jeremy Blaire was taking this strange office hazing too far.  Blake didn't like it.  He knew Michelle didn't appreciate any of her "little ducklings" being picked on.  She didn't put up with it from any department, and she was a force in her own right.  This was not a fight she could win, unfortunatly.  This was the Branch President, and going over his head would be fruitless.  It's an old money club.  The boys at the top had each other's backs.  
  
Blake wasn't stupid he was aware that things weren't completely on the up and up at Murkoff.  Between the vanishing employees and the rumors of employee mistreatment. He thought about exposing the company.  He was young.  He could move, get a different job.  Unless Murkoff decided to ruin his reputation, or turn the tables and sue him for defamation or something like that.  
  
They had  an iron grip on their employees with their contracts, confidentially and nondisclosure agreements, a long term of employment, a covenant not to compete, and very limited mediation rights.  Blake had been naive signing that peice of paper, but he was stuck now.  Even after his contract was up he might have trouble finding work anywhere if he stirred up any shit.  He actually hated his job; long hours, stressful work conditions, and Hostile superiors.  If it weren't for his weekends with Lynn in the woods he'd probably go crazy.  
  
...But, Murkoff was a big corporation and they could afford to pay their employees well, and the benifits and perks were great.    Yes, nice big chunks of cheese to lure the rats in and keep them on their little treadmills.  He headed back into work, wishing he could drive straight past the looming building.  Well...at least he got along with the people in his department...Yeah, and with decent comapny and a good air conditioner hell wouldn't be that bad a place either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't like this chapter.
> 
> Am I moving their attraction too fast? I mean I know Miles is a self assured guy and he knows what he wants, he has this idea that if he sleeps with Waylon it will hurt the younger man once the story comes out, but somehow he expects a false friendship not to hurt him.
> 
> Jeremy's feelings about Waylon are really not a secret if you read the summary, but he only cares about nailing him. He doesn't care for his feelings.
> 
> About the virus thing IDK if a Trojan virus can really randomly pull up porn but it was a way for Jeremy to tease Waylon.
> 
> Finally I have not planned ahead for what the company's ddark secret will turn out to be so there's no point in guessing. I don't know if everybody's reasoning for staying on at Murkoff are valid. I have no idea if Miles will endd up finding allys in these people or if he will attempt to be the David to Murkoff's Goliath.
> 
> Sorry for the rant. I'm not sure if I'm digging a hole for myself or not. and if you noticed any double letters that don't belong I fear my laptop keyboard is wearing out or something. The thing is literally taped together as it is.


	7. Texting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theres a lot of texting in this chapter I hope its not annoying, I actually normally don't care for the chat based fictions. I find them a bit hard to get into and enjoy. If its off putting I'm sorry. And if you notice grammar and spelling mistakes in the texts that is intentional, for the sake of looking natural...This chapter is so rough for me and feels stilted and a bit off the rails.
> 
> I had such writers block on this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> **Quick note, as of 10/20/2017. I have a family illness that has been delaying my update. I am now working on the next chapter. I apologize for the delay and I hope to have the chapter finished soon.**

Waylon groaned and stretched,  His head was throbing and his throat was dry.  It was dark in his apartment.  He slowly got up stretching.  His back popped.  he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket.  
There were a few messages on his phone

  
___________1:23 PM_____________  
**Miles:** _How's things going at work?_  
_Sep 14_

  
...

___________3:01 PM_____________  
**Miles:** _You there?_  
_Sep 14_

...

___________4:37 PM_____________  
**Miles:** _Are you ok?_  
_Sep 14_

...

___________6:07 PM_____________  
**Miles:** _Did you get home safe?_  
_Sorry Just worried_  
_Sep 14_

...

Waylon sighed and rubbed his eyes.  He blinked the sleep out of them and looked at the time on his cable box.  It was after  midnight.  He thumbed a text back to Miles.

 **Waylon:** _Sorry if I worrried you_  
_I wasn't feling good so_  
_a coworker drove me home._  
_Crashed on the couch_  
_slept all evening_  
...  
  
He barely hit the send button when a reply came back.

  
___________12:28 AM_____________  
**Miles:** _Hey sorry about all the texts_  
_I was just being paranoid_  
_Promise im not a crazed stalker_  
  
Waylon had to chuckle at the stalker comment.  He texted back.

 **Waylon:** _That's just wat a stalker_  
_would say. :P_  
  
He waited for a reply.  Miles was taking his time.  Maybe he shouldn't have texted that.  It was a full minute before a reply came.

 **Miles:** _Well i only dug through_  
_your trash that one tim. XP_

Waylon chuckled.  He texted back.

 **Waylon:** _Well I'll be sure and leave you_  
_some milk and cookies next_  
_week for trash pickup. :P_

...

 **Miles:** _Ha ha_

...

 **Waylon:** _Well I better let you go._  
_Its late._

**...**

**Miles:** _Don't let me go_  
_I enjoy being caught.  :D_

...

  
**Waylon:** _You're cute_

...

 **Miles:** _I think you mean unbarably sexy._

...

  
**Waylon:** _e.e_

...

 **Waylon:** _That was an eye roll_

* * *

  
Miles chuckled.  He was releived his new friend wasn't going to be the next in a long line of missing persons.  He flipped through his print outs and frowned again.  Internationally the murkoff company had seventy-eight deaths/disapearances this year alone (that's not counting any close family members that might have also vanished).

  
Twenty-three of the cases were from the Denver branch.  The latest case was a family, Shirley and Devin Pierce, and their three year old daughter Ashley.  Shirley worked for the company, but her husband was a frelance contracter.  They were also expecting a baby in the fall.  The man's family filed the missing person report.  The woman's parents were both disceased and she had no siblings to miss her.  They dropped off the face of the earth like they had never existed.  That was all the information Miles had gotten so far on that case, but it was the most likely to still have any kind of a trail.

All the other Denver cases were similar.  The subjects were all under fourty, most under thrity.  They were young looking and atractive, light complected, typically blond.  It was starting to feel like a serial killer's M.O.  There were few bodies to find, Lots of the former employees of Murkoff had little family, or if they did...their closest relatives might dissapear also.

  
There were a few cases of the employees dying in accidents.  Car crashes, a few hit-and-runs, mysterious house fires, and one case of electrocution.  There was never any evidence of tampering or arson, so their families probably never associated their deaths with the Murkoff Corp. Miles was unwilling to let go the number of deaths in a single year related to Murkoff.  Even if they were a multi billion dollar company with  millions of employees there were too many concidental deaths and too many missing persons to not look suspicous.  
  
Miles felt his phone vibrate.  He checked his messages.

  
___________12:37 AM_____________  
**Waylon:** _I'm off work until Monday._  
_if you want to take me up on_  
_that offer to get something to eat?_  
_Maybe Tomorrow?_

...

 **Miles:** _That sounds good. :)_

...

  
**Waylon:** _K :D  I'm going to go to bed now._  
_We can work out the details later._

...

  
**Miles:** _Sounds fine.  Good night. ;)_

...

Miles sighed and rubbed his eyes.  He didn't want to look forward to dinner with the short blond but he did inspite himself.  He pushed his guilt down, mentally stomping it into dust.  He needed to get to know Waylon better if he was to hope to use him.  If he could get in to Murkoff's system and do some digging, he could possibly blow the story wide open, and make national news.  
He dropped his papers on his computer desk and stood.  Waylon was right it was late.  He stretched feeling his back pop as he leaned back, "I'm getting old."

He chortled and headed for bed.  It was barely Thursday morning.  He needed to do some leg work on the Shirely Pierce case then he could  have friday to spend with Way.  Miles rolled the shortened version of Waylon's name in his head.  He liked it.  If he thought about it he had called Waylon that a few times.  He wondered if Way had noticed or cared.  
Miles shook his head.  He needed to get over this atraction to the guy.  He threw himself on his bed and covered his head with hs pillow groaning.

* * *

  
Waylon stretched and yawned.  The sun was peeking in through his bedroom window.  He scratched his head and grimaced, not just because of the pain but his hair was limp and greasy.  He had skipped cleaning it tuesday.

  
"Wonder if I can wash my hair now?" He mumbled as he got out of bed.  Looking at his clock he saw it was eight in the morning.  "The doctor said wait two days...Has it been two days yet?"  He groaned.  He better not risk it.  He was staying in for the day, it was decided."  He changed from his pajamas to a pair of track pants and an old t-shirt.  He went to the bathroom to care for as much of his hygene as possible.  His foot itched under the cast.  He had already had the cast replaced once to accommodate for reduced swelling.

  
The doctor told him it was likely to be fine until the next appointment.  Way looked himself in the mirror.  He must be the unluckiest guy in the world.  Broken ankle in July, concussion in September.  He sighed and felt his chin.  There was a little stubble, but with his fair hair one could ony really tell by touch.  He'd shave tomorrow.  He fingered his soul patch.  He maybe he'd get rid of that too.  He tapped his chin.  His stomach growled suddenly.

  
"I guess it's time for breakfast,"  He turned and hopped on his crutches.  he hated tackling the stairs.  He flipped on the hall light and slowly made the treacherous journey to his kitchen.

  
Waylon sideled up to his counter and started rummaging through his cupboards.  He'd gotten very profeicient with balancing on one foot while cooking, but this morning he was feeling lazy.  A packet of instant oatmeal looked good.  He grabbed an over-sized mug and poured the contents of the peaches and cream oatmeal pack into the mug, filled it with water, and stuck it in the microwave.  He hopped back superstitously.  His mother always said that microwaves caused brain tumors. She didn't allow one in her house.

Waylon got one anyway when he moved out. Maybe a bit of rebellion, but there was still that inkling of unease at the sight of the appliance.  He refused to let his mother's crazy fear mongering control him though.  The microwave hummed quietly and he watched from a safe distance as his mug spun inside.

The microwave dinged and Waylon grabbed his mug, hissing in pain and almost dropping the scalding ceramic.  He put the mug on the counter and stirred the thick porridge.  He hummed and grabbed the milk out of the fridge adding a splash to the oats.  He stirred it in letting the milk thin it out and cool it just a bit.  He grabbed a paper towel to act as a make shift pot holder and took his meal to the livingroom so he could watch television.  He turned on the news, a man was being interviewed about his missing son.  He and his family had just left suddenly with no notification.  Waylon frowned, he felt a spark of empathy, tinged with envy.

He had picked up roots and his family didn't seem to care at all.  He felt ashamed of himself but the longing for his family to miss him was there.  They knew where he was, had his phone number and never tried to contact him.  He never tried either but that was because they had driven him out, basically.  They would not have a gay son!  Waylon rubbed his eyes half expecting to find tears there.

He slowly finished off his breakfast while watchig the rest of the news, then he started flipping through the channels to find something mindless to watch and veg out to.  He settled on a house hunting show.  They were looking for lake side property.  It was nice to imagine himself in the people's place happy couples looking for their dream home.  Him and someone who loved him, and wanted to be with him.  They could bring Mrs. Gluskin as his adopted grandmother.  ...And Eddie of course. He heard scratching.  He looked up and there at his window was none other.

  
"How'd you get out mister?" Waylon called across the room.  He struggled to get up and hobbled over to the window, opening it to let the feline in.  Eddie hopped down and rubbed all over his legs.  Way shut his window and made his way back to the sofa.  He sat and Eddie joined him curling in his lap and purring up a storm.

"Well I'm glad to have one man in my life that appriciates me," Way chatted with the cat.  He had a flash of Miles in his mind, "Maybe two men?"  
He'd have to wait and see about that.

* * *

  
Miles tapped on the door.  He was waiting for someone to answer.  The person he wanted to talk seemed to not be home.  There was an old newspaper on the porch, the yard was unkempt.  The driveway was empty.  The blinds were pulled tight.  The house next door was sitting empty.  Up until six months ago it had been occupied by a man woman and child.  The woman had been expecting a child and working for Murkoff.   Shirley Pierce and her family had vanaished over night.

  
 Miles had already walked around the yard over grown yard, and peeked in the windows.  The house was clean, the furniture was still there...Not entirely strange if they were selling the house furnished.  The only thing that bothered him was the lack of a reality sign or even a sign advertising for sell by owner.  Well that was something to look into.

  
Miles knocked on the door again.  He heard movement inside the unkempt house next to the Pierces' abondoned house.  This house looked more abandoned than the Pierce Place except it looked like they had at least mowed in the last six months.  
Miles knocked a third time.

  
"Hold yer horses!" An angry voice called from inside, "I'm comming damn it!"

  
Miles stepped back as the door was flung open by a greasy shirtless man with what looked to be red paint on his hands and chest.  He would have almost sworn it was blood except for the strong smell of turptine.

  
"What you want?  I was in the middle of something!" The man growled and ran his fingers through his scraggly brownish grey hair.  He scratched his equally scraggly beard of the same dubious color completing the effect of a crazed killer.  He eyed Miles impatently, "Well?"

"Uhhh, well sorry to bother you sir," Miles started.  The man started to close the door.  Miles put his hand flat agianst it getting into the man's space.  His breath was rank and he smelled of body odor.  Mixed with the chemical fumes Miles felt his head spinning, "...But I have a few questions.  About..."  he nodded towaerd the empty house.

  
"A cop or...are you a news reporter?  I don't see a camera," The man looked over his shoulder.

  
"I'm well, I am a journalist, but I don't work for the news station.  I'm just looking into things.  If I could trouble you with a few questions.  Please?" Miles looked into his eyes.  Inspite of his outward appearnces the man had inteligent, steely eyes.

  
He sighed, "Fine...I need to wash up first...been stuck on a painting.  As you can guess I'm an artist,"  The man backed away from his entryway and held his hand out, "Come on in...watch yourself.  There's paint on the sofa."

  
Miles hesitated for only half a second.  If this guy turned out to be a psycho he figured he could get away easily.  He needed some information.  The man seemed to know something.  The inside was marginally better than the outside.  Not that it was really dirty, more rundown and disorganized, thought the smell of terpentine was stronger inside.  There were numerious paintings on the wall.  Many featuring the same vibrant red that was decorating their owner.  No doubt their creator.  They were gruesome depitctions of torture, murder and cannibalism.  Miles read the signature, and gasped when he realized just whom he had been talking to.  Frank Manera, the famous and volitale artist.  He was notirous for violent outbursts and verbal abuse at his showings, still the avant garde crowd flocked to him.  Had to be worth millions and here he was in this barely livable house with probably a million dollars worth of paintings hanging in his living room alone.  Miles shook his head and looked at the couch.  It was covered in a riot of colors of paint in various stages of drying.  Miles decided to stand.

  
He heard a creeking and looked up.  At the head of the stairs was a much cleaner and slightly saner looking Frank.  He smiled showing off yellow teeth, "Like my peices?  I'm preparing for a show in december.  The theme is the spirit of blood.  To contrast the spirit of Christmas, but still it ties into the holiday with the color's red white...and a little touch of green.  Miles looked closer at the first painting he saw.  What he had thought was black on closer inspection was a deep forest green and the vicera of bone showing from the victim as his murderer rent his flesh away was pink and white.  Miles nodded and looked away.

  
"Well I ain't gonna excuse the mess.  This is how I live and that's that," The man held out his hand, red from scrubbing rather than paint now. There was still paint in his hair and beard, "Frank Manera...incase you didn't see my signature."

  
"Well its...an honor...to meet you," Miles plastered on a polite smile and took his hand.  It was chapped and rough.

  
"Cut that crap out right now.  I know you didn't come here to talk about my work.  You came here about the people next door who ain't there any more,"  The man frowned and let go of Miles's hand he flopped on the sofa getting red paint on it and other colors on his clothes.

  
"Well I can tell you first things first that I'm off the record," Frank eyed him, "Not many people know I live around here.  I intend to keep it that way.  The art groupies would have my house over run.  Then theres the art theives.  I've moved house three times in five years.  This neighborhood is nice, quiet, and no fucking homeowner's society.  Thank god were out of denver city limits! No need to worry about getting fined for not mowing my grass every other day or having an imperfect house."

  
"That's understandable," Miles nodded, "No I just want information.  The family that used to live here...did you see anythign strange?"

"Yeah but then 3:00 AM on your fith energy shot and inhaling paint fumes and you'd see some crazy shit too," Frank chuckled.

"You didn't see them leave?  See any moving van?"

"Why would they need a mover's van.  I know you looked inside their house.  I did.  Didn't even close the curtains.  Everything 's there still.  No they...they got snatched up.   Now don't you fuckin say I said anything.  Another reason I like how my house looks is that people assume its abandoned and pay it no mind," Frank cut into Miles with his eyes, "I keep weird hours.  It's part of the creative process, not sleepin' for days or sleepin' all day and workin' at night.  Well I  was awake one night last spring.  I heard some cars pull up.  I got suspicious.  Just cause I look stupid don't mean I am.  I never heard so many cars at that hour in this neighborhood.  It's not normal, so I peeked through my blinds.  Watched them.  Three black cars,  three guys in black suits.  Each taking  one of them.  They weren't strugglin.  They looked drugged.  They were each taken in a seperate car.  The little girl...I don't know if she was drugged or asleep but Devin and Shirley were definftly or they'd never-a let some strange man take their little girl without a fight."

  
He looked at miles to gage his expression.

  
"Hey just cause I'm reclusive doesn't mean I can't make friends with my neighbors.  They knew who I was and treated me like a normal person.  Ashley had a tendency to play hide and seek and she hid in my back yard one day.  Her mother was fit to kill. When I found the tyke for her she broke down in tears.  They invited me to dinner and well...I couldn't very well decline such a gunine offer.  I hate to think what has happened, but I can't get involved, those suits looked serious,"  The painter reasoned.  Miles thought he was a bit callous, but well in his position would he stick his neck out?  He already knew the answer to that so he didn't need to ponder.

"Anything else?"  Miles asked.

The man shook his head, "No, I mean theres not been anybody except the old man.  Devin's dad.  He's been by.  At first he was mowin their yard and making sure the doors were locked and nobody was messin with their stuff.  He hasn't been in over a month.  I told him what I told you. Don't know if he beleived me or went to the police.  If he did, they never came to question me.  I suppose they're too busy...or maybe they got paid off."  He shrugged.

"Well," Miles turned toward the door, "Thanks for the info.  I promise I won't mention you or where you live.  I just needed to know. I'll let myself out."

"Fine," Frank waved him off, "Just forget you spoke to me."

"Sure," Miles opened the door and walked out into the fresh air.  He took a big lung full thankful that he didn't pass out from the fumes.

He looked at his phone and saw a message from Waylon.  he smiles as he jogged to his Jeep.

  
___________2:55 PM_____________  
**Waylon:** _Hey how about 6 tomorrow?_  
_You can pick me up at mine_  
_and we can get dinner?_

He replied quickly.

 **Miles:** _That works for me._

  
He pocketed his phone and started up his Jeep.  He still had  some daylight to burn and leads to check but he would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to dinner tomorrow.


	8. A Good Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Sorry that its taken so long for me to update, but my Mom is sick. She has stage 4 cancer, I have been caring for her after her chemo treatment. She's feeling better for now until her next treatment. I'll try to get caught up on my writting in the mean time.
> 
> I'm late in getting this done, but I was not sure where I was going with this story. I'm starting to get it though. I hate this chapter but I hope you guys like it.

Waylon stepped into the shower carefully.  His cast was bagged up, and the last thing he needed was to fall and hit his head again.  He itched and felt grimy, having skipped bathing the day before.  He definitly wanted to get clean today.  Miles agreed to go out with him.  Waylon's heart fluttered thinking about it.  He'd never been brave enough to hit on anyone and he had lived so long hiding his sexuality that it realy could be hard to find someone interested in him.

  
Miles seemed so comfortable with himself and openly flirted.  Sure the guy had given him a concussion, accidentally, but Waylon was willing to take a little bump on the head for such an atractive guy.  He turned the shower on warm and stepped under the spray.  He started shampooing his hair and gently prodded the stitches.  Waylon let out a hiss of pain and jerked his hands away from the tender spot.  He scrubbed around the tender area and let the shower rinse the soap off the stitches.

  
He started washing the rest of his body he soaped up and rubed down his body.  His hands rubbed over and around his penis.  He imagined Miles touching him and gasped as his member twitched.  Leaning against the shower wall and balancing on one foot he stroked himself with a soapy hand.  Waylon blushed inspite of the privacy.  He was willing to admit he was repressed.  Masturbation itself didn't embarass him, but if he ever thought of a specific person it was almost painfully awkward.  He grunted, finished already.  The blond man pressed his temple into the tile and let the water rinse away the evidence.

  
He rinsed away the soap then killed the water.  He grabbed his towel and rubed his body down quickly.  His good leg was starting to get tired.  He reached for his crutches and manovured carefully out of his shower.  He hobbled over to the foggy mirror and sighed.  He felt his chin, he needed a shave.   He wiped the mirror to clear the condensation.  He did look a little scruffy.  He got his shaving cream and razor out and took care of that bit of grooming.

 

* * *

  
Miles ploped down on his couch and checked his texts.  He hadn't heard from Waylon since the night before and he was feeling a bit nervous.  He smacked his cheek and growled to himself, "Theres nothing to be nervous about its not a date.  We're not visiting that teritory.  Not over my dead body."  He looked down at his crotch, "And don't you get excited."

  
He sighed and shook his head taking his phone he thumbed over the touchscreen and typed out a message.

 

* * *

  
Waylon was scrubbing his hair with his damp towel when his phone chimed.  He let the towel hang off his shoulders and leaned against his dreser.  He grabbed his phone, read Miles' texts, and responded...

  
___________3:55 PM_____________  
Miles:    Checking in, don't know what  
             you'd feel like getting, but rress  
             casual.

___________3:55 PM_____________  
Miles:    Dress...casual.  :P

___________3:55 PM_____________  
Waylon:  Anywhare you like  
              I'm not picky. :)

* * *

 

Waylon laid his phone down and draped his towel across the back of the wooden chair by his bed that he liked to use as a night stand.  He grabbed his deoderant and applied it then hoisted himself up to go look at his clothes.  He wanted to be casual but also look hot.  He didn't get to go out often.  He frowned, he hadn't worn jeans since the accident.  All of his were too tight around his cast.  He wondered if he could manage to get his foot through the leg if he really tried.  It was worth a shot.  He pulled his skinny jeans out of the drawer and tossed them on the bed.  He then looked for a shirt.  Miles and said casual.  Would a plain t-shirt do?  Or a polo?  He worried his lip and grabbed a black tee.  He looked at it...it was new-ish and in good shape and it hugged his body.  He would see if he could get the jeans on then he would adjust his outfit accordingly.

 

* * *

  
Miles read Way's reply and grinned.  He was having a craving for Chinese.  Chinese food was good to bond over.

 

* * *

  
The dark haired ceo picked up the memo addressed,

  
        To: Jeremy Blaire President of the Denver branch of Murkoff.

  
He ripped the yellow envlope and pulled out the legal sized white sheets of paper and frowned as he read.  He scanned the document into his personal computer, encrypted it then shredded the physical copy.

  
He slid his hand over his face and sighed.

"Threre's no time," He whispered to himself but he shook his head.  He sank back into his chair. then he pushed his call button on his phone.

"Yes Mr. Blaire?"  his secratery replied ovrer the speaker.

"Get Tragger in here," He ordered in the most even voice he could manage.  Jeremy pushed out of his chair and walked over to his personal bar. He poured himself a brandy to calm his nerves. and reclamied his seat.

 

* * *

 

Miles sat in his Jeep drumming his fingers over the steering wheel.  He'd arrived a bit early and didn't know if he should go knock or just wait patiently.

There was a loud thud on his roof and suddenly that black and white cat with the mangled face slid down his windshield.  The little beast turned and glared at Miles looking him in the eye and growling.  He hunched down thumping his tail against the hood as he stared down the encroching human.

  
Miles was startled at first,  then he narrowed his eyes, "Jealous are you?"

  
He made shooing gestuires and the cat swatted at his hand scratching at the window.  The cat arched his back making himself bigger.  He was already a large feline to begin with.  Miles frowned at the display, "Damn it!  I'm not gonna let a ratty wanna-be alley cat intimidate me."  He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for his door handle when someone scooped up the feirce animal and cuddled it to his black clad chest.  Waylon cooed and the cat went from menecing beast to playful kitten in an instant.

  
"Let me take him home then we can go!"  The shorter man shouted.  He hobbled on crutches but Miles was distracted by the tight jeans hugging a nice smooth little butt.  He covered his mouth to prevent drool from dripping down his chin, and looked at his lap, "You behave!"  The cat was draped on the other man's shoulder almost like a boa.  Miles chuckled.  Once the devil cat was safely inside he got out and went around to open the passenger side door.  He watched Way nagivate the parking lot quickly.  He looked good, _damn good._   Miles felt his chest tighten.  How could someone so cute not have someone...Any guy or girl would probably be crazy about him.

  
"Thanks,"  Waylon blushed and scooted into the jeep.

"You are _very_ welcome," Miles closed the door and returned to his seat.

"Where are we..."

"Do you feel like..."

They both spoke.  Waylon blushed, "You go."  He gestured for the other man to finish.

"I thought Chinese might be a good idea.  It's casual and still has nice food.  Not a buffet of course with your crutches that might be a bit...awkward.  I was thinking of a quiet little resturant I know.  Its small and usually not too crowded but the food is...well divine," Miles smirked at the blond.

Waylon nodded, "That sounds good."

"Buckle up.  It's a little bit of a drive, but maybe we can talk to fill the time," Miles hoped he could casually work Murkoff into the conversation during dinner but even better if they could get it out there before.  He discretely looked at his phone as if checking the time but was actually turning on the recorder.  He felt a little pang of guilt but figured if he didn't quote Waylon verbatim he could manage it.  
Waylon turned out to be quite the companable guy,  they talked about lots of stuff and before Miles even realized it they were at their destination.

"The Divine Wok," Waylon chuckled.  "Nice pun earlier..."

"Hey it is what it is.  The food here is excelent," Miles put his arm around Waylon's shoulders before he could stop himself.  Waylon didn't protest.  In fact he unconciously leaned into the warmth of the other man's body.  Miles was a naturally warm person, physically.  He had been compared to a furnace by previous lovers.  There he went thinking of Way as a potential lover.

  
He opened the door for Waylon.  Then followed, what a wonderful view he had, looking down at that tush.  
The duo were greeted by a woman in a lovely cheongsam shirt and black slacks. She smiled at them in greeting.

"I called ahead," Miles spoke up, "Reservation for Upshur."

The woman looked at her podium and nodded.  She spoke with a slight chinese accent, "Yes, Thank you.  Follow me."

She grabbed a couple menus and gestured for the men to follow her.  The atmosphere was relaxed and quiet.  Families and couples sat at evenly scattered tables or in booths along one wall.  Miles and Waylon were shown to one of the booths, one in the farthest corner.  There were dragons painted on the walls and the table of the booth was varnished wood with a lotus flower etched in the center.  The lighting fixtures were glass but very reminicent of paper lanterns.  Waylon was looking around.  He'd never been to the place before.  He felt nervous as he scanned the area.  People were casually dressed, smiling, and chatting quietly, but the resturant looked a bit upscale to what he was used to.

  
"This place is beautiful," He spoke up, "I..."  He paused and looked at his menu.  The items were not cheap.  He hid a frown behind the leather folder he was holding.  It wasn't that he couldn't afford it but it was a bit over of his normal budget.

"What would you like to drink?"  The woman asked them.  
Miles spoke up, "I'd like a pot of jasmine tea and an ice water.  Way would you like to share some tea?"  
The waitress waited patiently looking at the blond man.  Waylon stuttered, "S-sure  I'll have the same."  
She nodded smiling, "I'll bring your drinks while you consider the menu."  She bowed slightly.

"I know you promised to buy dinner but allow me,"  Miles spoke up as soon as the woman had walked away.  
Waylon flinched, had he been that obvious?  He looked up and Miles was browsing the menu.

"Do you have any recomendations?" Way asked.  His nerves hadn't quite calmed.

"I was thinking we order a few things and share.  I've been craving sweet and sour pork.  Oh and the dumplings here are the best!  How do you feel about soup?  I recommend egg drop or hot and sour."

"Egg drop," Way said, "And I can get the check."

"Nah," Miles shook his head, "I got this."  He waved his menu dramatically.

"But-"

"No, no buts," Miles grinned, "Now is there anything you want specifically?"

"Um," Waylon wasn't sure he wanted to give in but the confident smirk on the journalist's face told him he could spend the evening one of two ways; enjoying his meal and getting to know the handsom man, or arguing about who would pay.  He ducked his head and quietly uttered, "Beef and broccoli...Looks good."

"Sounds good," Miles snapped his menu shut and slapped it on the table just as the waitress arrived with a tray holding their drinks.  
She arranged two porclin cups and a steaming tea pot between them then set the waters beside the cups, "Have you decided what you would like?"

"Yeah," Miles nodded.

Waylon laid his own menu down gingerly on top of the other.  Miles repeated their choices and added an order of spring rolls and egg rolls.  Way wondered if they were going to have other people show up.  It sounded like they were going to be feeding an army.  The menus were taken away and the waitress left them to their own devices, but with the promise that their soup would be out shortly.  
Miles poured himself a cup of tea, and without asking did the same for Way.

  
Waylon sipped the tea then hissed.  It was near boiling hot.  He sipped his water to sooth his tongue.

  
"Oh yeah might want to let it cool for a bit,"  He blew on his own cup then downed the entire thing before pouring himself another.

Way's jaw hung slack, "Didn't that hurt?"

"Nah...I have a high tolerence to heat," Miles assured him.  He sighed, "This tea is my favorite, well next to coffee."

  
Way nodded.  They talked quietly through dinner.  Miles seemed really interested in his work which Waylon thought was weird.  After all, his job was really boring.  The food was just as good as promised, but there was so much.  Miles ate more than his fair share.  The man seemed rather insatable.  He made certain Waylon at least tried a little of everything though.  He was blushing the whole meal as the taller man fussed over him.  His heart was beating so fast, he didn't know if it was the MSG or just being near the sexy brunet.

  
Dinner was finished and Miles threw his card on the table.  Things had gone as well as could be expected.  The men saw themselves out after paying.  The evening had grown dark.  Waylon shivered and rubbed his arms in the crisp night air, "Should have worn a jacket."  The shorter man's teeth chattered.

  
Miles frowned and unlocked the door helping Way into the jeep.  He reached in the back and produced a flannel shirt, "Here."

"Oh," Way blushed though it was difficult to see even under the dome light in the vehicle, "N-no  I'm o-o-okay."  His shivering made him stutter.

"Its ok  just put it on for now.  I'll get the heater running," Miles jogged around the jeep to the driverside and climbed in, "It's a little chilly."  
He watched as Waylon struggled to get the over sized shirt on.  He smiled at the other man, "Thanks."

"Its nothing," Miles nodded as he turned the key and got the engine running.

"No I mean for everything.  You're very kind,"  If it was possible, Waylon's blush grew deeper.

Miles turned his head away frowning, as a lump settled in his stomach like red hot iron.  He grunted quietly and started backing out of the parking space.  He pushed the feeling down and forced a smile, "I had a lot of fun.  Thanks for coming with me."  
They pulled onto the highway, one man blistfully warm, the other burning with guilt.

 

* * *

 

There was a knock at Jeremy's office door.  His secretary had left for home only half an hour earlier.

"Come in," He called.  It could only be Richard.

The former lawyer let himself in smiling.  His body looked emaciated.  His frail form belied his feirce reputation.

"Get yourself a drink and have a seat," Jeremy steeped his fingers over his own glass...Half full of his third brandy.  
Tragger selected an aged whiskey and filled a tumbler.  He took a seat across from the stressed looking CEO.

"Not good news I assume,"  The man smiled inspite of the forboding atmosphere.

"Subject 241 expired.  We need a replacement and soon.  There is only one canidate but he isn't even a perfect match...Besides..." Jeremy paused and watched the older man gulp down his drink.

  
"Oh...that one...you wanted him didn't you.  Shame, and his DNA test was shown to be imperfect.  Not all of the markers...Why did that woman fail the project, Jer," The skeletal man set his glass down and looked at Jeremy.

"From what the reserchers figure it was because of the pregnancy hormones.  It fucked the contacts over and she went onto a seizure.  They managed to keep her on life support but the connections were too damaged and she finally died last night.  We need another host."

"Have the kid's file?"

Jeremy reached in his desk and pulled out a file.  He slid it across to Tragger.

"Cute kid...I can see why you want to fuck him...if I swung that way...and well if my cock worked anymore I'd stick it to him too."

Jeremy sneered, "Just read his results Rich."

"Hmm, 68 percent, He could work...but its not a sure thing.  I still say we need to cast our nets wider...What about that little girl?  Her mother was as near perfect as we had seen so far."

"Uh..Oh the kid was shipped off to...London,"  Jeremy scratched his chin thinking, "Davies' wife wanted to adopt a kid...Remember that bitch...we met at the christmas gala a couple years ago.  What a total whore.   She's barren...I guess...otherwise she'd probably have had someone's bastard before now.  Fucking put her hand on my dick while her husband was turned away.  I feel sorry for the kid...it might have been more merciful to have her killed..besides it works better with adults."

  
"Hm," Richard tapped his fingers, "Well how long do we have?  Maybe we could scour the hospitals networks to find a better match?  68's barely good enough...So did you fuck her?" Richard smirked.

"What?" Jeremy asked, "Who?"

"Amelia?  Phillip Davies' wife?  You fuck her?" The older man asked again.

"Yeah...she was a lousy lay too," Jeremy smirked back, "She's a whore but when she's just giving it away like that I figured...why not.  Her ass wasn't too bad at least.  Made up for that loose pussy." Jeremy made a crude gesture with the OK sign and his pointer finger sliding in and out, "Like a fucking gerkin in a wind tunnel."

Both men chuckled.  Richard handed the folder back to Jeremy, "See if you can put them off and I'll look for a better canidate.  If it comes to it he's just a peice of ass anyway.  You can find another,"  He stood and let himself out of the office.  He had some reserch to do...And a few medical networks to crack.

  
Jeremy nodded to his friend/employee.  His spirits were lifted for the moment.  He rubbed his face and looked at his hand...it blurred into two.  He'd better sleep off the booze on his office couch.  He dimmed his lights.  Then he shrugged off his jacket and kicked off his shoes lining them neatly at the end of the black sofa.  He laid down and used his jacket as a blanket.  He was snoring in no time.  Murkoff's problems could wait until the morning.


	9. Back to Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of trouble with this chapter. I hope its good enough.
> 
> I'm currently at my mothers house again, taking care of her. She has two more chemo treatments to go after this last one. Everything is going as well as could be expected. She's responding well to the therapy.

**Chapter 9: Back to Work**

 

* * *

  
Waylon woke to the blaring of his alarm and grumbled.  It had been a long weekend, a pretty good one, but long still.  Miles was great; kind, considerate, handsome, and sexy.  Way was still unsure if the guy was into him though.  One moment he was sure the journalist was flirting, the next he was just friendly.  Maybe, just maybe, the journalist was not as confident as he seemed.  Maybe he needed to make a move next.  
He blindly reached for his alarm clock and knocked it off the chair...He felt something soft under his hand and clutched at the fabric.  The flannel.  He's forgotten...He'd have to give it back to Miles.

Waylon blushed and pulled the shirt to his nose.  The shirt wasn't exactly freshly laundered. It smelled faintly of cologne and sweat.  Miles had nice taste...he couldn't pick out what brand it was but it was something more old fashioned smelling.  Like something his father wore.  Waylon frowned.  He did not need to associate this sexy guy with his dad.  He was absolutely not into that kind of fetish.  Still he did like the other man's scent.

Waylon looked at the time and groaned.  He really needed to get up.  He'd been off work for most of the last week.  He knew there was going to be a huge work load waiting for him.

There was noting to be done though.  He liked his apartment...well not liked per-say, but he did like his neighbor, and his independence, and being able to pay his bills every month.  He sat up.  Dizziness shot through his head but the feeling of vertigo only lasted a second.  He slid out of bed keeping all his weight on his good leg and grabbed his crutches.

He couldn't wait until his doctor cleared him to walk again.  Even more than getting that damned cast off he wanted to have the ability to walk again.  He groaned looking down at his clock on the floor.  It was going to be a pain bending over for it.  He toed it out of the way.  He'd get it later.  He needed to get ready for work.

 

* * *

 

Miles heard his phone beeping.  He rolled over on his sofa.  He was still clutching a case file he'd been reading the night before...well...half the case file was in the floor.  He sluggishly sat up, putting the half of the file he held on the table he reached for the rest without getting up.  Gathering the pages and shuffling them back into a semblance of order he put them with the rest.  A Xeroxed copy of a photograph stared at him hauntingly.  A missing family.  An attractive woman and man standing behind a beautiful teenager.  They were missing.  The man had been a Murkoff employee.  They had vanished five years prior to the Pierce family.

There were, just this year alone, 23 deaths or missing persons in Denver related to Murkoff...many could be explained.  Car accidents, drunk driving, a couple of muggings gone wrong, house fires, natural causes such as heart attacks and cancer.  Anyone over the age of 35 seemed to be ruled out.  That put Waylon in the age range of the victims.  Miles frowned.

The mysterious missing persons were all younger.  Most of the people working for Murkoff to vanish had similar characteristics.  It was almost like a serial killer M.O.  There's no way this was just someone thrill killing, or fulfilling some psychological need.  The timing and spacing of the vanishing, and the scope of the missing persons was too specific and ordered.  People of similar body types and complexions, missing.  Lots of them vanishing close together.  Then nothing for a year and a half to 2 years, then another series of disappearances.  The last were about a year ago.  That means Miles needed to hurry and uncover this before more innocent people were kidnapped or murdered.  This had been going on for more than two decades.  It had to stop!

 

* * *

  
Jeremy brought up the closed circuit cameras on his laptop and watched his employees entering the building.  He was looking for a crop of messy blond hair.  He wanted to see that cute little IT tech.  It was still undecided if they were going to be using him, but Jeremy was determined to get closer to him in the mean time.

The CEO almost felt bad for what was inevitably going to happen.  Waylon was unsuspecting either way.  Jeremy could put things off for only so long.  The people above him expected results not excuses, and having the hots for a subject had never stopped him from coming through before.  So what if his type also happened to be the perfect genetic type for their experiments.  The technology has been twenty years in the making.  Their research has advanced modern medicine and modern technology.

  
They certainly had sacrificed a few lives, but it was all for the betterment of the world, and the share holder's pockets.  The genetic markers for light complected people made them the easiest for the machines to bond with.  The results had them working toward cures for cancer, HPV, HIV, as well as disorders, such as Down syndrome, Autism, Lupus, Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, ALS, just to name a few.  The problem was that the cure was just as deadly as any of the diseases and only young adult bodies could even withstand being bounded.  Jeremy had a month to come up with a better candidate, or to at least make good use of Waylon before he lost his chance.

 

* * *

 

  
Waylon hopped into the building.  He saw Blake signing in and smiled, "Hey Blake!"  He waved, "Wait up!"

"Way!" Blake turned smiling.  He waved back, "You feeling better?  Man you gave us all a fright."

"Yeah," Waylon nodded, "I'm doing much better...still a little dizzy but hey I had a good weekend anyway...I met someone."

"Reeeeaaaalllllyyyy," Blake smirked, "Is he nice?"

Waylon nodded.  His sexuality wasn't a huge secret.  He had come clean to Blake and Lynn when Lynn had tried to fix him up with her cousin.  That was one awkward dinner, but he didn't hold it against her.  Lynn meant well.  She's a kindhearted lady, and Susan was a nice girl, just not his type.  Miles was his type; really, really his type.

"Yeah," Waylon signed in absentmindedly and hopped up to his friend who was holding the door for him.  "Yes, and he's really good looking.  I can't believe he's interested in someone like me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Blake frowned at his friend, "You're great.  Nice, good looking, awesome at darts.  Who wouldn't want to date you...well you know...unless he's not..."

"I'm not sure...I think he is...It hasn't come up yet," Waylon looked at his feet as he hopped along.

"Well," Blake reached for another door and let his friend through.

"Thanks," Waylon mumbled.

"Has he been giving you signals?"  Blake followed him down the hallway.  There were boxes crowding the hall and people rushing between offices.

"I think so," Waylon carefully went around a box, "I'm getting mixed signals, but at least he's interested in hanging out.  If nothing else he might make a good friend.  Maybe I can bring him to our next get-together."

"That sounds fun,"  Blake stopped waiting for Waylon to manage the obstacles, "Bring him out to the bar one night and we can hustle him at darts."

"I want to be his friend, not trick him out of his money," Waylon stuck his tongue out.

"Come on!  It'll be fun!" Blake patted his shoulder.  Waylon wobbled a bit, but caught himself.  His friend grabbed his arm to help steady him, "Woah, sorry.  I guess your still a bit unstable."

  
The men were interrupted when their supervisor bustled into the hall, "Blake I need you on 39,  a printer is down.  Waylon you're with me.  We've got some slow down on the network."

Waylon hopped behind his boss when another woman stopped them, "Michelle, Mr. Blair called. He wants Waylon in his office a.s.a.p."

Michelle stopped, digging her manicured fingernails into her palms and biting her tongue.

"Go on Waylon," Michelle said quietly.

She stepped aside so he could head to the elevator.

"If he's not back in an hour I'll go up there and check up on them," The woman promised to herself but Blake nodded.

"I...I better go fix that printer," Blake mumbled and followed Waylon.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy tented his fingers.  He could almost smile.  This visit wasn't going to be all business.  The higher-ups might want Waylon for their experiments but if he could manage it he's get want he wanted from the young man and be bored with him long before that happened.

There it was, that tentative knocking.  So shy, or was he being coy.  Jeremy knew it was not coyness, but that made him smirk.  He loved being intimidating and holding power over someone really got him hot blooded.

"Come," Jeremy commanded.

Waylon peeked in,"You needed to see me sir?"

"Yes," Jeremy stood, and pointed to his sofa, "Sit Park."

"Um, yes-sir," Waylon ambled over on his crutches and took a seat on the end of the couch.  He kept his eyes down and hoped his boss didn't sense how awkward he felt.  A hand went to his shoulder and he flinched in surprise.  He looked up into the CEO's eyes.

"Relax Park,"  He grinned in a not so reassuring way, "I'm not gonna bite you."

"N-no sir," Waylon stammered, "Sorry you just surprised me."

"Good," Jeremy smiled and slid his hand from Waylon's shoulder.  He felt the smaller man cringing and fought back the laughter that wanted to bubble up in his chest.

He cleared his throat, "Firstly I wanted to apologize about last week.  I should not have called you in, when you were unwell.  I must confess I do call on you a lot more than  I should.  It's honestly that I like you Park.  You are good at your job and...you look good doing it."  He put on a teasing smile and winked.

Waylon blushed and cast his eyes to the side, "Um...thank you?"

"Oh no need to be shy, its a compliment," Jeremy sat himself beside the shorter man, "I don't give those out on a regular basis and I don't flatter. If I say it, it's only because it's true."

"Oh," Waylon tried to scoot over but he was trapped between the arm of the sofa and his boss.

"I had a couple of things I wanted to discuss with you today, I was thinking we could take lunch together," Jeremy leaned closer ever so slightly.  He was loving the reactions he was getting from the other man. He would love dominating Waylon.  Maybe, just maybe he could spare Park there were other candidates...none of them without families or close ties, but that had not stopped them before.  They were in a pinch. Shirley had that husband and the brat, and she was pregnant.  The kid was likely going to have dark hair.  Like it's father...it would have if it had survived the procedure.  It had not.  Jeremy didn't particularly care.

Jeremy looked at his watch and nodded.  He got up and sauntered over to his desk to grab the infected device.  he brought it back over to Waylon, "First things first.  I was hoping you could help me with this laptop of mine.  It has a virus, or something."

 

 

 


	10. Learning Curve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and get something out. It's been rough the last few months. I'm really sorry to keep you all waiting. I deleted the chapter and re-posted it because I started it back in may and it wasn't showing the update. So I thought I better re-post it so people would notice it was updated.

**Chapter 10: Learning Curve**

* * *

 

Miles was driving out of town, heading to a lead.

"Mount Massive," He mumbled to himself.

His phone rang in the passenger seat next to him.  Miles glanced at the screen and cursed.  He let it ring as he scanned for a safe place to pull over.

The ringing stopped long enough for his voice mail to pick up.  Then less than a minute later it started ringing again.  He pulled over and answered.

"What do you want David?" He droned on in annoyance.

"I want to see you in the office, pronto!" David growled.

"What?  Why?" Miles cringed at the whine creeping in his voice, "I'm working on a story here."

"Yeah about that..." David hesitated, "I want you off Murkoff. I have another assignment for you but I need you in the office as soon as possible."

"Why?  Murkoff is huge.  We can blow this thing wide open; at this point it could save lives!"

David sighed, "Upshore get your ass in here or I'm cutting you loose."

"You wouldn't," Miles challenged, "David-"

"Try me Upshore, just try me," He interrupted, "Your ass, in this office, this afternoon.  I'll be waiting."

 

Miles hung up. David was usually uptight, but today something was up.  He didn't want to risk his position at The Kaypart, it was his regular paycheck.  He couldn't afford to lose that, not right then.  After this Murkoff thing, maybe.  It would get him some name recognition.  Journalism is a profession that is floundering.  Newspapers, magazines, even television are having trouble keeping up with the internet.  On top of that, anyone and his grandmother can report news, and a lot of faulty information is floating around now.  Keeping your head above water is getting harder and harder.

 

* * *

 

 

Waylon blushed, taking side long glances at his boss, well his boss's, boss's, boss.  Mr. Blaire was driving his expensive black sedan, Way was riding in the passenger seat.  After looking at his laptop and removing that porn virus from it Way hadn't stopped blushing.  He was worried he might faint from sheer embarrassment.  Instead he had nodded dumbly as his superior insisted he go to lunch with him.  That was how he found himself in the shiny black car with the President of Murkoff's Denver office; the highest paid employee; and the man who could easily fire him, if he did the slightest thing wrong.

 

"I've got reservations at The Vines," Jeremy glanced over at Waylon and smirked, "Ever been?"

 

Waylon shook his head and managed to utter a quick, "No."

 

"Well it is pretty exclusive...an expensive," Jeremy shrugged.

 

"Oh..." Waylon combed his fingers through his messy blond locks.

 

"Don't worry about your looks. I said it’s exclusive, I didn't say it was formal," He slowly turned in at a modern looking building.  The sign identified it as their destination.  They came to a stop at the front doors.  Jeremy got out first and came around to the passenger side.  He retrieved Way's crutches from the back seat.  He then opened the door and offered his arm to the blond.  He gave Way his crutches so he wouldn't have to keep hopping on one foot.  Or lean against his boss, thankfully.

 

A valet stood waiting.  He was young, blond and dressed nice; but not overly formal.  The restaurant looked like a place for hipsters, and other people with too much money, who wanted to seem cool.  The young man tried to take Jeremey’s keys as he dangled them over his head.  Jeremy frowned severely at him and warned, "That car cost more than you could make in a decade, one scratch, one dent.  The radio settings touched...I'll know and you'll be sorry."  He dropped the keys in the kid's hand and slid his hand behind Waylon.  Way flinched as the man pressed gently on his lower back.  He also felt bad for the kid who looked a little pale.  He noticed Jeremy eyeing the kid's hair.  It was spiked up kind of wild, but somehow Way doubted his boss was interested in the kid's styling abilities.

 

Way was having trouble maneuvering his crutches with Jeremy hanging over him so close.  He felt the hand slide around his waist as he tried to pull away. Jeremy pulled him off his feet.

 

Waylon gasped, "Um...Sir..."

 

"Damn you're light.  I think I could carry you in if you let me."  He winked at the shorter man then released him.

 

Waylon almost stumbled, "T-that's ok sir...I think I can manage."

 

Jeremy's hand returned to Way's back and pushed him toward the door, "Well no point in just standing here they might give our table away."

 

Waylon blushed vibrantly and looked around.  There was a crowd and a few people were looking their way as they passed through the throng to the matradee podium.

 

"I have a reservation for two...For Blaire," He spoke to the host.

 

She smiled and nodded batting her long eyelashes at the man, "Course, Mr. Blaire, were always glad to have you."

 

"Thanks Bambi," Jeremy winked at her, "My usual table?"

 

"Of course, let me get a waitress over here for you,"  The woman waved a younger looking woman over, she had strawberry blonde hair, more on the red side, it was pulled up into a high ponytail.  She was wearing a similar uniform to the hostess though her shirt was a pale mustard.  Where the hostess's top was a rich gold.

 

A waitress appeared and grinned widely at the two men, "Mr. Blaire!  It's good to see you again.

 

"Glad to be here Honey," Jeremy rubbed Waylon's back, making his skin crawl.

 

Waylon blushed.  Jeremy seemed to be a regular...and hearing endearments dripping off his tongue was a bit surreal...Way glanced at the server's name tag and saw that her name actually was Honey.  She giggled like a school girl and nodded, "Follow me Mr. Blaire...and Mr..."

 

"Waylon," Jeremy supplied grinning down at Way.

 

"K," She smiled at the blond man, "Follow me Mr. Waylon."

 

She must have assumed Waylon was his last name.  He cleared his throat, but didn't correct her. They were seated at a small two person table.  The restaurant was a bit noisy.  House music was playing over the din of clinking cutlery and chatter.  The walls were covered in murals and kitsch.  Jeremy whispered in the girl's ear and she blushed but left quickly.

 

"Honey's getting us drinks.  I ordered for you hope you don't mind," Jeremy winked at him.

 

* * *

 

 

Miles pulled up to the small building that was home to The Kaypart.  It wasn't a huge office.  They outsourced their printing.  The only presses found in their offices were the electronic kind.  They were selling fewer and fewer hard copies of the magazines by the year.  They adapted to the new landscape of online journalism, and found their niche.  They may not be the most popular or famous but they were managing to turn a profit.  Many of their customers were turning in their paper copies of the periodical in favor of the cheaper online subscription.  Kaypart was fazing out the magazine slowly because that was still profitable, though it was getting heavier on the ads and skimping more on the stories.  They realized they could offer so much more by building a news site.  Still have the ad revenue, but be less blatant about it.

Miles frowned.  They were doing OK, but they needed more exciting stories.  If David would see reason, he could get more notoriety for the magazine.  The tall brunette pulled into his usual parking space around the side of the building.  He felt a chill run down his spine.  There were two conspicuously inconspicuous black sedans parked near the side entrance, one was in the handicapped space but that didn't ease the alarm bells.  He recalled Frank Manera's story and similar accounts of black sedans sighted near the victims locations at the time of their disappearances.

The journalist cut his engine and slowly reached for his phone.  He pushed the speed dial for his boss's number and let it ring.  He waited.  It rang for a full minute.  David didn't pick up.  David's voice mail picked up.

"You have reached the office of David Annapurna," There was an audible sigh on the message, "Leave your name and contact information, and if you must leave a message please make it brief.  I will return your call in a timely manner."

Miles took a cleansing breath and closed his eyes, "Hey Dave, Its Miles.  I, um, I had something come up.  I...It's sort of urgent.  I'll call you back later, if you don't call me first."

He glanced toward the two ominous black vehicles.  They had tinted windows so he had no idea if they were occupied.  He turned his key and the engine of his jeep roared back to life.  Miles backed out and swung around the small parking lot.  He passed the car and tried to see inside them.  The bright noon sun glared off the smoky glass.  He bit his lip and left the parking lot.

Miles didn't know if this was all a coincidence, or a sign, but he turned off his cellphone at the first stoplight he encountered.  He had no idea if they could track his phone, but this was a multi billion dollar business that had its hands in all kinds of technology, probably (if his research was to be believed) some of which was not on the up and up; some of it might be down right illegal.  They were cocky, but powerful enough to get away with murder.  ...Several murders.

Miles drove around Denver for about an hour before he was certain there were no black Sedans tailing him.  He pulled into a little gas station and filled his baby with fuel, then he went into the convenience store, picked up a coffee, a bag of doughnut holes and a cellphone, a cheap one; one of those ones with the practically disposable numbers.  He paid the clerk then left.

He had some calls to make and he needed to arrange a place to stay for the time being.

Just to be safe...


End file.
